


Spaces Between

by coshie



Series: Spaces Between [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Here Lies the Abyss, F/M, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke Has Issues, Hawke in Inquisition, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Anders/Hawke, Sad Hawke, Sarcastic Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coshie/pseuds/coshie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric writes to Hawke asking her to help out the Inquisition.  He’s hoping to help keep her mind off of what the past decade has done to her, even if she’s hiding the damage well.  While happy to help, it becomes apparent that Hawke is concealing some troubling memories that have haunted her for too long.  Concerned, Varric enlists the assistance of an old “friend” to help Hawke see that - despite what her past might convince her of otherwise - she is not alone.  From her first steps in Skyhold to her departure at Adamant, Spaces Between tells one possible story of the Champion’s brief time with the Inquisition, and how Hawke learns to accept her painful past, let go of old scars, and finally say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke arrives at Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  Full disclaimer:  the timeline of everything has always been a little confusing for me, no matter how many times I look it up and see how everything fits together.  All I know for sure is that there are four years between the Kirkwall rebellion (9:37 Dragon) and the Conclave explosion (9:41 Dragon), but other than that, I basically make shit up as I go.  Also, headcanon says Varric did have a nickname for Hawke, though he conveniently neglected to mention it to Cassandra while telling her his tale in DA2.  (Of course he had a nickname for her; how could he not?  Have you met the guy?)  Because my Hawke is Sarcastic!Hawke - always with those cheerfully inappropriate comments - to me, she was Bubbles.  Also also, I twisted some events to fit in with the story, and I changed some things entirely, in order to fit my headcanon.  But hey, what else is fanfiction for!
> 
> Anyway.  All that said, enjoy the show.  I’ve really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it.  c:

  **s p a c e s b e t w e e n**

_o n e - a r r i v a l_

Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.  
_Benedictions 4:10_

“You’ve been neglecting me, Varric,” Hawke said as they ascended the stairs into Skyhold.  “Nearly two months without a letter.  Over a month of silence!  Tsk.”

Varric chuckled.  “Well, you know how things get when someone decides to blow up a big important building.”

Hawke rolled her eyes but smiled.  “Ooh, very inappropriate, love.  Surely there’s a less-personal way to explain your silence; perhaps one that doesn’t involve reminding me of the fact that I was present for the reason why the whole of Thedas has gone to shit in the past four years?”

“Oh, there are plenty,” the dwarf agreed, “but I just wanted to draw that parallel.”

Hawke chuckled lightly. “I know you did.”  They continued in silence for a moment before she sighed.  “Varric, you know that I have enough to worry about already,” she said bluntly.  “I’d really prefer not to get involved.”

“I know,” Varric agreed with a slight smirk.  She had already said that, or something very like it, four times since he had asked her to join him at Skyhold; yet here she was anyway.  “But trust me,” he assured her for the fourth time, “you can help them as much as they can help you.  Just tell them what you know about Corypheus, and what Stroud’s told you.  The Inquisition will have the power to find out more.  I know you’ve been concerned about the Wardens.”

Hawke frowned slightly, and looked away when Varric looked up to her.  “And?”

He laughed.  “I’m not judging you, Bubbles.”

“It sounds like you are.”

“Hawke.”  Varric stopped them before they exited out onto the bridge, putting his hand on her arm.  “Look, I know you’re worried about him.  If finding out what’s going on with the Wardens will help put your mind at ease, I’m all for it.”

She sighed.  “I don’t think my mind will truly be at ease until I know for sure where he went.”

“Well,” Varric said, giving her arm a little squeeze before dropping his hand, “this is a good starting point, isn’t it?”

While she knew it was true, Hawke had always been hesitant to face anyone outside of Kirkwall.  Those she had met since the Chantry incident had expressed little but disdain for her decisions and actions.  It was impossible to explain the multitude of pressures that had been weighing on her during the months leading up to the collapse, and Hawke rarely tried to reason with anyone.  However, it had made her avoid interpersonal contact for some time, and facing the Inquisition was an unwelcome turn of events.

“Just wait up here, all right?” Varric was telling her as they walked the ramparts.  “I’ll retrieve the Inquisitor, and you two can talk out of way.”

“It’s awfully open up here,” she commented as he started down a flight of stairs.  “You’re sure I won’t be accosted?”

“You are quite the celebrity,” Varric told her with a slight smirk.  “I’m sure everyone will be swarming you, asking for autographs.”

“I wish that’s all they asked for,” Hawke muttered under her breath, earning a chuckle from the dwarf.

While she waited, Hawke admired the view.  Situated in the mountains, away from any semblance of civilization, Skyhold was the type of place in which she thought she could stand living.  Aside from the chatter of everyone moving about in the courtyard, it was quiet.  There was no city noise, no city smells.  Just fresh air, and a cool breeze.  It reminded her of a small town in the mountains north of Kirkwall where she and Anders had spent a few weeks.

Hawke sighed, turning away from the sweeping view of the mountains.  It had been just over three months now since Anders had left.  And somehow, in the space between, so much had happened:  her brief return to Kirkwall before Varric had been interrogated and taken away by the Seeker, the Conclave and its destruction, Corypheus making himself known again, and the Inquisition being reformed.  It was quite a bit of history to happen in such a short time, but all she could think about was Anders.  And that tore her apart inside.

Hawke refused to let anyone see, even Varric.  Not that she worried about Anders:  anyone who knew her could guess that.  Of course she was worried.  He was a Warden, a mage, was harboring a spirit of Justice twisted into Vengeance--- not to mention how his actions in Kirkwall made him a prime target for just about everyone.  At least when they were together, Hawke could do her best to keep him safe, happy, and - as much as she could - sane.  Even then, she worried far too much about his well-being.  So the worrying didn’t get to her, because the worry itself was nothing new.  What bothered her, what ate away at her mind, was the fact that she was, indeed, worrying.  Constantly.  Endlessly.  There were so many things going on in the world; Anders should have been one of the last things on her mind.

But every day her fears grew more numerous.  It started out simply:  where had he gone?  As the days passed, she began to wonder:  was he still alive?  Then she had met up with Stroud again, and heard about the trouble with the Orlesian Wardens; while she and Anders had avoided Orlais in their travels together, Hawke couldn’t help but add to her worries:  had he wandered too close to the Empire and got caught up in whatever was happening?  When Varric wrote to her, told her than the supposed ancient magister that they had freed and killed was responsible for the chaos at the Conclave, it served to further Hawke’s concerns about Anders:  did Corypheus get to him?  And then, he was a mage in the middle of a rebellion:  did the Templars find him?  Worse yet, she knew all about how the “voice in his head” affected him, the spirit that drove him to push Kirkwall - and, as a result, most of Thedas - into chaos; her deepest worry about him was one that had plagued her since she had learned the truth about him:  had Justice - _Vengeance_  - finally claimed him?

At the end of it all, through all of her overwhelming concerns about the man she had once loved so dearly, was pain.  Pain that he betrayed her; pain that he lied to her; pain that he left her.  And what hurt most of all was that she worried so ceaselessly, and Anders knew she did, but he had left her anyway.

But it was hard admitting that he left her.  Even to Varric, Hawke had simply said that she and Anders had parted ways, and had ventured so far as to mention that she was worried about where he was.  Saying out loud, however, the truth that he had abandoned her without warning was very difficult.  She didn’t like the sound of the words in her mind, and she doubted she would like them any more if said aloud.

“Hawke?”  She glanced up at her name, grateful for the interruption of her increasingly darker thoughts.  Varric was standing on the platform below her, waving her down.  A blonde woman with sharp eyes, an elegant posture, and interestingly exciting haircut stood next to him.  “This is Inquisitor Trevelyan.  Alice, allow me to introduce the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Hawke chuckled a little as she descended the stairs.  “Though, admittedly, I don’t use that name much anymore.  Inquisitor.  It’s a pleasure to met you.”

* * *

“So,” Hawke began when she and Varric were alone once more on the battlements.  “I suppose I can pop in and out of Skyhold when I’m not out in the field.  It might be nice to see you once in a while.”

“Just once in a while, hm?” Varric mused.

“Just once in a while,” Hawke confirmed jokingly with a smirk.  “While I’m here, however, is there anyone I should keep an eye out for?  Any particularly loud opinions about the Chantry incident I should avoid?  Maker knows I’m not trying to get into philosophical discussions about that madness.”

“Surprisingly, no,” Varric told her.  “Almost everyone I’ve talked to has offered refreshingly neutral views on the matter.”

“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the author of the Champion’s story being the one they were talking to,” Hawke pointed out, nudging him slightly.

“Of course,” Varric agreed with a chuckle.  “Let’s see.  You… might actually want to avoid Cassandra.  At least, for a while.  I… might have lied to her and told her I didn’t know where you were.”

“You mentioned that.”

“So.  She might not be happy to see you.”

“I bet.”

“But if she ever calms down, I’m sure you’d get a kick out of meeting her.  Then there’s Sera; she likes to pull pranks on everyone,” he continued, “so you should get along just fine with her.”

Hawke laughed.  “I can hardly wait to meet her.”

“Just don’t give her too many ideas.  You’ll only be here for a short time, but the rest of us have to put up with her for a while yet.”

“I make no promises.”

“Uh huh.  Oh!  And then you might want to talk to Cullen.”

“Cullen?” Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Why do I know that name...”

“He was Knight-Captain in Kirkwall?” Varric prompted.

“Oh!” Hawke gasped with a chuckle.  “My, of course.  Yes, I remember him now.  He lacked a sense of humor, as I recall.  Far too serious about the ‘duty of templars’.”  She made a face.  “He never smiled, hated mages….  No wonder he failed to make an impression.”

Varric chuckled.  “He’s lightened up a bit since you last met,” he assured her.  “I’m sure it would be interesting for you two to meet again after the events of the past four years.  Other than that, I can’t think of anyone in particular you might want to watch out for.  I’m sure everyone would be quite pleased to meet you, though.”

“I would imagine so.  After all, I am quite the celebrity,” Hawke joked with a slight smirk.


	2. reacquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke is reacquainted with an old ..."friend".

_ t w o - r e a c q u a i n t a n c e _

Here, I decree  
Opposition in all things:  
For earth, sky  
For winter, summer  
For darkness, Light.  
_ Threnodies 5:5 _

 

Hawke had disappeared for a few days after her initial introduction to Skyhold.  She claimed it was best that everyone get used to the idea of her before she actually maintained any kind of presence.  Varric suspected that Hawke was simply uncomfortable being in one place for too long after years of being on the run, but did have to admit that she had a point.  Once everyone was aware that the Champion of Kirkwall might be around, the early excitement would die down, and she could potentially meet people without them being starstruck, or overly judgemental, or just plain accusatory.

She had also said that when she wasn’t at Skyhold, she’d be around Crestwood, where they could meet Stroud.  Apparently, there were some other troubles in the area - that she was only too happy to help with, likely to keep herself distracted - so she had good reason to hover around her Warden friend.

Varric worried about her.  When she was off traveling - hiding, more like it - with Anders, Varric had sent her letters when he could, and she had done the same.  Every once in a while, they would make a brief appearance in Kirkwall, and Hawke was only too happy to see Varric again; but these were few and far between.  He couldn't help but wonder - and worry - about what happened during the space between their short visits.  During each, Anders seemed to speak less and less, and most of what he did have to say had become increasingly vehement tirades about the plight of mages, the troubles they faced, and the injustice of it all.  Hawke had continued to use her standby response of dismissing it with a laugh or casual remark - everything short of a pat on the head and a patient “that’s nice, dear” - but Varric observed her carefully each time he saw her, their visits many months apart:  her eyes became a little more muted, her laugh a little more hollow, her smile a little heavier, and her very core a little darker.

Watching his friend lose the spark she once had turned Varric’s attention to the man she was spending her days with:  Anders was changing as well, and in a much fiercer way.  His anger was consuming him, eating away at whoever “Anders” had once been; he was falling into a bottomless pit of hideous retribution, and dragging Hawke down with him.  All Varric could do was watch as Hawke time and again left with a man who was slowly turning to nothing but poison for her.  Just being in his presence was wearing away at Hawke’s being, corroding her once boundless optimism, rotting her endless joy, and sucking her very life away.

So Varric really couldn’t find it in himself to blame Hawke for wanting to keep her mind off of what she had been through.  (And really, he could only begin to guess what she had, indeed, been through; deep down, though, he was sure he didn’t want to know.)  He couldn’t fault her for feeling antsy when staying in one place for too long.  He couldn’t argue with her when she said she would drop by Skyhold “once in a while”.  All he could do was anxiously await her return.

Three days later, she surprised him with a cup of tea at his bedside.  “Good morning,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Bubbles?”  He looked around the room, but she proffered the tea at him and he sat up to accept it.  “What… what are you doing here?”

“I said I’d be back!” she said cheerfully, sitting on the edge of his bed with her own steaming mug.  “It’s mint.”

“It’s…”  He looked down at the mug in his hands.  Tea.  Mint tea?  No, the important part was “tea”.  He had to keep his thoughts simple for now; it was too early for him to have to think about these things.  His head was still swimming from sleep.  “Why tea?” he asked her.

“Because everyone likes tea,” she said in a tone usually reserved for very stupid children.  “I thought you might like it, anyway.  I bought it from a traveling merchant, and I absolutely adore it.  I almost couldn’t brew it for you, though; the servants in the kitchens nearly had heart attacks when I walked in.”

Varric blinked at the mug before looking up at Hawke smiling down at him around her own tea as she took a sip.  “The kitchens,” he repeated.

“Of course, the kitchens; where else do you brew tea?”  She giggled, and leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead.  “Get out of bed soon; you’re showing me around Skyhold today,” she informed him briskly, standing.  “I’ll be trying not to make trouble in the courtyard,” she said as she went for the door.

“No you won’t,” Varric muttered into the tea as he lifted the mug to sip it.  If there was one thing Hawke would never do, it was  _ not _ try to cause trouble.

The tea was sweet.  Varric looked up at the now-closed door through which his friend had just disappeared.  The tea was sweet, but sweeter was the woman who brewed it.

“That’s good,” he mused, reaching over to the bedside table to pull over a small notebook.  “Need to write that down.”

* * *

“Sera told me about the time she stole all the left boots from a noble’s guards’ supplies,” Hawke was chatting aimlessly at Varric as she swung her legs slightly, seated on the low wall overlooking the lower courtyard, “and she said the resulting chase was so unbalanced, she was nearly caught from laughing so hard.”

When Varric had finally dressed and left his bed, and after proceeding to take care of all of his usual morning activities - meeting the with Inquisitor, getting convinced to tell another story at the Herald's Rest, finding something to eat - it was a little past noon before he was able to meet up with Hawke again. He wasn't worried about her; left to her own devices for a few hours, she was likely to just watch Skyhold and observe its usual activities. Sure enough, he had found Hawke sparring with a few soldiers in the courtyard.  She had been demonstrating the use of her staff as a melee weapon, and was defending against three “enemies” with training swords without using her magic.  For a while, Varric just watched.  Hawke was cheerfully coaxing the others to attack her, and moving gracefully out of their way, using her staff to redirect their blows.  She saw him when she made an unnecessary spin - she always did like showing off - and ended the fight by accepting an obvious blow to her midsection.  She collapsed in a dramatic show of gasps and cries of “they got me!” and “Maker, take me to thy side!” which earned laughs from the onlookers.

She accepted one of the soldier’s outstretched hands and stood, thanking the others for the fight.  “Keep at it,” she encouraged.  “A lot of mages are at a disadvantage when faced with melee opponents, especially once Templars have intervened, since few bother to study any kind of non-magic melee defense.”  With a wave and a grin, she left them to join Varric near the stairs.

“They like you,” he told her with a smile.

“I am an incredibly likeable person,” she said in a tone that suggested he might not have known that about her.  She sat on the wall, and Varric leaned back against it next to her.  “I was walking around the place earlier, and everyone I met was quite happy to engage me in conversation.  And not even the kind of conversation where I felt the need to turn and walk away!”

“Well, good,” Varric said.  “I’m glad you’re getting along with everyone.”

“Well enough, anyway,” she conceded.  “Actually, on my way to the kitchens this morning, I ran into Sera.  She was carrying a bowl of plums and a ball of twine, so of course I had to ask what she was doing with it.  And once she told me, of course I had to help.  All I can say is you might want to keep an ear towards Josephine’s office for a while.  Should be great for a laugh.  Or ten.”

“Oh.  Great.”  Though his words were exasperated, Varric couldn’t help but smile.  It was good to see that Hawke was still capable of making friends like she used to.

“Sera told me about the time…”  As she continued babbling about Sera, Varric watched her.  To an outside observer, she was animated and bubbly, gesturing broadly with her arms and laughing along with her story.  But to a careful viewer, her smile failed to reach her eyes, beneath which were subtle shadows, betraying her lack of adequate sleep.  Her gesticulations, while energetic, slipped and stuttered very slightly halfway through, as though she lacked the motivation to follow through.  But worst of all was her laugh:  light, reedy, almost hollow, as if the expression of mirth was merely for show rather than a valid indication of her feelings.

They had already talked about what had happened - at least, to the extent that Hawke was willing to talk, which was… not a lot, when it came down to it - but Varric knew she was keeping a lot buried inside.  She needed to talk to someone about everything.  The problem was, aside from him, there wasn’t really anyone available that might even begin to understand what she had been through.  No one else in Skyhold had seen everything that had happened in Kirkwall, which was the beginning of Hawke’s slow descent into this darkness she seemed to be cloaked in.

Varric straightened slightly.  No, that wasn’t true.  There was someone else who had been in Kirkwall.

“Hey Bubbles,” he cut her off mid-sentence.  She went along with it, turning to him with a cheerful “yup”; even she had to have realized that she was talking about nothing.  “You haven’t met Cullen yet, have you?”

“I have not,” she agreed.

“You should.”

And so, they ended up heading to Cullen’s office to reintroduce the old acquaintances.  Hawke had wondered aloud as they walked whether or not Cullen would remember her - “Of course he will, Bubbles; no one could possibly forget the damage you did to the Kirkwall Templars” - or if he had managed to pull that stick out of his ass yet - “Not entirely, no” - but seemed excited to again see someone from her past.

When they walked in, Cullen greeted them without looking up from his desk by mentioning that Varric owed Leliana an explanation of some excursion she had sent an agent on at the dwarf’s request, for which she had apparently been hounding Cullen, believing the Commander - for some unknown reason - to have been the one behind the initial request.  Hawke giggled at the annoyance in his tone.  He looked up to see that she was there with Varric, and stood hastily.

“Of course, you remember Hawke,” Varric said pointedly.

“Of course.”  Cullen smiled at her, but perhaps a bit uneasily.  Maybe not uneasy; maybe more hesitant.  After all, his memories of her consisted mainly of trouble caused in the Gallows, pranks pulled on Templars, and a slew of inappropriately smart-ass remarks.  Hawke’s cheeks were warm as she returned the smile, hers much more confident.  Without the Templar armor, the man in front of her looked very different than the man she remembered.  He seemed more approachable.  Kinder.  Varric glanced up at her to notice her distraction and smirked to himself.  He had hoped Hawke would take to the Commander quickly; it wouldn’t hurt her to have a few more friends.  Especially those who once held rather significant quarrel with her.  “Who could forget the Champion of Kirkwall,” Cullen said with a small nod.

Hawke chuckled lightly, swatting the air as if waving away the title and all related concerns.  “Oh please; no more of that Champion nonsense.  I’m pretty sure Varric’s the only one who bothers to use that title any longer.”

“Someone should remember it,” Varric commented offhandedly.

“I wish fewer people did,” Hawke admitted.  “But, er.  Knight-Captain, it’s very nice to see you again,” she said, smiling back at Cullen.

“I haven’t been a Knight-Captain in quite some time,” he mused.

“Oh, ha, of course.  You would be, what, Commander now?” she corrected.  “My apologies.  Old habits and all that.”

He chuckled, shifting a few papers around his desk.  “It’s all right.  You can just call me by my name, if it’s any easier.  If anyone’s earned the privilege to ignore authority, it would be you, Hawke,” he said in a not entirely non-sarcastic tone.

“Don’t encourage her,” Varric muttered.

Hawke giggled behind her hand.  “Then Cullen it is.”  She was vaguely aware of Varric leaving as he said something about the Inquisitor or Bianca, but Hawke was …more than slightly distracted with the man in front of her.  “You’re… looking well,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair back from her temple.  “Last time I saw you, you were…”  After a brief moment of consideration, she shrugged with a slight snort of laughter.  “Well, I suppose you had just betrayed your commander and were attempting to salvage what was left of your order as a powerful apostate left with her equally dangerous friends, leaving behind a smoldering ruin of a city.”

Cullen chuckled, shifting his weight a little to stand more comfortably, resting his hands on the hilt of the sword at his waist.  “Yes, I suppose it has been a while, hasn’t it?  A lot has changed.”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, you can say that again,” Hawke said with a sigh, shaking her head as her shoulders fell.  She felt exhausted just thinking about how much had indeed changed.  “Every time I’ve revisited Kirkwall these past few years, I hardly recognize it.  It’s... nice to be away from it, as terrible as that might sound.  Seeing my home, once again destroyed…”

“We’ve all lost a lot,” Cullen said when he glanced up to see the brief pain that flitted across her face.  “Though I suppose you have lost more than others.”

Hawke sighed, but did her best to hitch up a small smile again.  “Yes, I suppose so.  Though, I’m trying not to think about it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Cullen agreed gently.

For a moment, a silence stretched between them, but then Hawke giggled.  Cullen looked at her questioningly.  “Goodness, I’m sorry,” she apologized.  “I just… I was just reminded of when we met.”

“When we met?” Cullen repeated, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember.

“You had been investigating the disappearances and strange behaviors among the Templars,” she said.  “I found you questioning that recruit on the Wounded Coast.”

“Wilmod!” Cullen exclaimed, then sighed.  “Maker’s breath, yes, I remember that.”

“You were threatening him,” Hawke continued, “quite violently, if I recall.”

“Yes, well,” Cullen said, shaking his head slightly and not quite meeting her eyes.  “It turned out to be necessary.”

“Oh yes,” Hawke agreed quickly, “but I just find it interesting how much you’ve changed since then.  And that’s why I laughed.”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked, looking back up at her.

“I mean,” she said at some length, “that back then, you were so very harsh and uncompromising.  But just now, when you said ‘I don’t blame you’, it was in a tone of voice I’d never heard you use in the entire time I was in Kirkwall, all those times we crossed paths.  You’ve changed,” she concluded.

“And you find that funny?” he asked, giving her a questioning look.

“I actually find it quite nice,” she corrected, smiling.  “Back then, you didn't seem to like me very much. I guess that's understandable; you were the very picture of an upstanding Templar, and I was a mage running around with other apostates, right under your nose." She chuckled behind her hand. "I almost felt bad for the trouble I caused, but my goodness was it fun to get a rise out of people like you and Aveline. Though honestly, I always thought you could have used a break from your duties once in a while. Every time we did meet, you seemed to be fretting about something new.”

“Well, then perhaps little has changed,” he said with a slight sigh.

“Oh?” Hawke asked, taking a step closer to the desk.  “You could still use a break, I take it?”

“Oh, er---”  Cullen looked up at her smiling back at him.  “W-well, yes, but---”

“But nothing,” Hawke interrupted.  “Who’s going to miss you for a few minutes?  Leave the desk for a bit, and join me on a walk.  It’ll be nice to catch up with an old friend.”

“Friend?” he repeated with a very slight smile.

“Enemy?” she ventured, earning a chuckle.  “Whatever we were - are - it’ll be nice to talk, don’t you think?”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile.  Hawke was a rather charismatic and entertaining woman, and he really couldn’t find a reason to complain about spending some time with her.


	3. outset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke sets out on a new adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for something so cute you’ll puke?! I know I sure am! :D
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this chapter, because of how Hawke gets when she’s nervous. Well, how headcanon says she gets when she’s nervous. Because in-game, she’s pretty stupid confident, isn’t she? Like, about everything. It’s like she knows she’s the protagonist or something. Anyway, make up a story that Hawke just finished telling as this chapter opens. Because I have an idea in my head, but I’m sure you can come up with something much more entertaining.

_t h r e e - o u t s e t_

The Light shall lead her safely  
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  
_Transfigurations 10:1_

“And then!” Hawke exclaimed as they slowed their pace on an empty stretch of the battlements.  “Then, the children come running through the market, chased by two elves in jesters’ clothes!”  She couldn’t stop from laughing; Cullen, too, was unable to keep his amusement silent.  “Aveline,” Hawke started after a moment, catching her breath, “Aveline burst through my front door that evening, demanding to know who the elves were, and how I had convinced two dozen children to play along so convincingly.”

“How did you manage that?” Cullen asked as she leaned forward against the low stone wall.  “It seems like it would have been quite the challenge.”

“A magician never reveals her tricks,” Hawke told him with a grin and a wink.  “That was probably the most fun I had in Kirkwall,” she continued with a nostalgic kind of sigh.  “No wait, I take that back; honestly, I had quite a bit of fun any time I was messing with Aveline.”

Cullen chuckled.  “I can imagine.  And yet, all traces of those incidents are quite absent from Varric’s book.”

Hawke smiled a bit mischievously.  “Oh?  You read it, then?”

“I, er--- y-yes, I did,” Cullen admitted sheepishly.  “A handful of copies were passed around the remaining Templars in Kirkwall with great interest.  I… wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

“Oh, don’t be ashamed.  At this point, who hasn’t read that book of his?  Though, I kept telling Varric that the story would be so much more interesting if he left in the parts about me playing pranks on the City Guard, or all the times Merrill and I entertained the Alienage, or that time Fenris and I replaced a shipment of slaves with mabari.  The looks on those slavers' faces!  But Varric insisted that those stories were for another book.”

“I thought the story was quite interesting as is,” Cullen told her.

“It certainly had all the makings of a great epic, or so Varric says,” Hawke offered with a shrug, glancing out over the nearly-empty courtyard, bathed in the last rays of sunlight that would make it over the mountains.  “A refugee rising to power, losing her family, falling in love; a Champion at the center of intriguing plots, starting the mage rebellion, having her heart broken.”  She chuckled slightly, shaking her head.  “I read the book at a friend's insistence, and I admit, I hardly recognize myself in it.”

“Was it exaggerated?” Cullen guessed, earning a giggle.  “Varric does love his extravagant lies.”

“Actually,” she told him, turning to lean back against the wall to face him, “our favorite dwarf lied very little in his retelling of Kirkwall’s downfall.  I can’t say I blame him; it already sounds far too fantastical to be real.  Any additional exaggeration would have made it entirely unbelievable.”

Cullen agreed with a slight chuckle.  They lapsed into silence for a long moment.  Hawke watched him as he glanced out over the courtyard as well; she could see words forming in his mind, but they seemed to dissipate before they reached his lips.

“Is it a question?” she asked eventually.  “Everyone always has questions for me.”

He looked up at her.  Hawke was smiling easily back at him.  “Perhaps it’s not my place to ask,” he said.

Hawke smirked with a light laugh.  “Oh, don’t let that stop you.  Everyone has something to ask, regardless of ‘their place’.  Are you wondering about the Arishok?  That’s a popular question, but Varric tells that story much better than I do.  Ooh, or about the Deep Roads?  I hear there was a lot of confusion about what happened there.  Ah, no; _you_ would want to know why I chose to support the mages over the Templars, even while I supported a Chantry-sanctioned Circle?  That’s a complicated matter that has to do with my experiences with other apostates and the things Father taught me about magic.”

“No,” Cullen said.  He looked troubled.  “No, I… I can understand why you would support a Circle even while you supported the mages.”

“Oh.”  Hawke looked surprised.  “Really?  I don't hear that very often.  But… you do have a question.”

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “But---”

“No buts.  I’m sure it won’t be the worst thing I’ve been asked.  One person actually tried asking me why I didn’t have Isabela executed!”  She scoffed with a chuckle.  “It was as though he had no sense of how much I despise death.  But.”  She looked up at Cullen again.  “My point is, whatever your question is, feel free to ask.”

He sighed.  Clearly, she wasn’t going to drop it.  “I wondered about… about Anders.”

“Oh!”  Hawke waved the matter away with an airy, dismissive laugh.  “Of course.  Everyone wonders about Anders.  And the answer is no, I honestly had no idea what he had been planning.  Trust me, if I did….  Well, let’s just say things would have gone very differently that night.”

“No, I meant---”  Cullen looked up at her with a slight wince; he didn’t want to ask the question, but she seemed determined to pull it out of him.  “I meant that I wondered about Anders… and you.”

“Oh,” she said in a distinctly more tense tone, a look of faint surprise crawling across her face.  “I… see.”

“Like I said, it isn’t my place," Cullen said quickly.  "I’m sorry; forget I said anything."

“No, no,” Hawke said, shaking her head slightly.  “No, it’s… it’s fine.”  Cullen watched her as she avoided his gaze, brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, and glanced over the courtyard again without seeing it.  “That’s just… not what I had been expecting.”  He waited for her to work out whatever thoughts he imagined were tumbling through her mind.  “I… haven’t….  Hmm.  I don’t know entirely what to say, honestly.  Anders and I were… well, we… hm.”

“Were you… happy?” Cullen asked carefully.

“Happy?”  Surprisingly, Hawke laughed; it was a cheerless kind of laughter, perhaps a little bitter, but signified her amusement with the implication nonetheless.  “Maker, no.  As much as I’d like to delude myself into believing otherwise, aside from those first few weeks, I don’t think there was ever really a time when he and I were… happy.  Together, anyway.  We found happiness in other things:  me, in my friends and mischief-making; Anders, in his cause to help the refugees.  But there was always this… this space between us.  When he and I…”  She sighed, rubbing her head.  Cullen wanted to break in, to tell her that she didn’t have to continue, but he suspected that no one had ever offered her the chance to talk about these things, except Varric.  And while he knew that Varric had likely pulled all of this out of her already, he also knew that this was one of those things that Hawke should be allowed to talk about it in her own time.  “When we were together,” she continued, looking everywhere but the man in front of her, “it was as though the world was about to end, in so many ways.  We would comfort each other like children hiding from an imaginary monster.  We would tell each other ‘I love you’ as though that was enough to delay an apocalypse.  We would smile and laugh, but it was nothing more than lies to each other, and ourselves.”

“Then why---” Cullen began, but stopped himself when he realized he hadn’t actually considered his words before he opened his mouth.  The question was an inappropriate one, and one that Hawke did not need to be asked.

But Hawke smiled slightly, knowingly.  “Why was I with him?” she guessed, correctly.  “That’s the natural response, of course.  And… well.”  She chuckled awkwardly, rubbing her neck and glancing up at the darkening sky.  “There were a few very good reasons, and a few …not so good ones.”

“What were the good ones?” Cullen asked curiously.

“Well,” Hawke began, adjusting her position against the wall, crossing her legs and leaning back on her arms to watch the sky and continue avoiding eye contact, “if the world was truly going to end - which, let’s face it, it might as well have - I think we both wanted someone to share it with.  I know that I, at least, wanted to believe that there was someone at my side if I ever had to face down Oblivion.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Cullen agreed.  “Then… if you don’t mind my asking, what were the …not so good reasons?”

Hawke smiled to herself, then finally looked back at Cullen.  “You’ll have to forgive me if I’d prefer not to say.”

“Ah,” he agreed.  “That’s fair.  I apologize; it’s not my place to make you admit to poor judgement.”

Instead of dropping it, Hawke giggled behind her hand.  “Oh, no, Commander, nothing like that,” she insisted, a playful look in her eyes.  “It’s just not polite for a lady to say such things in front of a man.”

Cullen felt his brow furrow, and he tried to figure out what she might have meant.  A few ideas occurred to him, but none that he was willing to suggest.  Surely… surely it was something else.  He couldn’t imagine that this woman had justified - from his understanding - a painful relationship just for a physical attraction.

“Have you ever been in love?” Hawke broke through his musing.  She was still smiling at him.  “If you ever were, you might understand what desperation can do for what would otherwise be a failing relationship.”

No, he had been right; her “not so good” reasons revolved around physical intimacy.  “Hawke---”

She laughed, effectively cutting him off.  “By the Maker, this is an inappropriate topic of conversation we’re venturing into,” she exclaimed.  “I wouldn’t want to make you blush.  I apologize, Commander; we can talk about something else.”

But his curiosity was piqued.  This was a side of Hawke that he had never imagined seeing, and it was difficult to leave unexplored territory.  Curiosity was a cruel mistress.  “Make me blush?” he said, more to himself.  “Now I’m worried what I might have gotten into.”

“So far,” Hawke said, giving him a playful smirk, “I don’t think you’ve gotten into much of anything.  Was it your intention to…” she had to stop to giggle again behind her hand before continuing with a grin, “to… ‘get into’ something?”

“What?”  It took a moment before the implication of her words sunk in, and Cullen looked aghast.  “Maker’s breath---”  Hawke laughed again, and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  “I assure you, I had no such intentions when I agreed to join you for a walk.”

“Oh?”  The smile - or smirk, Cullen couldn’t decide - that curled her lips seeped into every word that left them.  “That’s truly a shame, Cullen.  Such intentions would have been… happily considered.”  She straightened up, taking a few steps closer to him.  “But, Commander,” she continued, her voice lower, becoming almost alluring, “I think I have kept you from your duties for long enough.”

“I-it was…”  Reflexively, he had started to say that it had been a pleasure to spend the time with her, that it was a welcome reprieve from his duties, but Hawke took another step closer.  Her hands were behind her back, and she was smiling/smirking up at him with a very playful glint in her eyes.  “Hm,” he hummed, almost wondering why he hadn’t taken a step back yet.  She was making him very slightly apprehensive, standing so close.  While she was making it quite clear what her intentions were, Cullen still couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking things through.  He could definitely recall a few memories from Kirkwall where things went very badly, and the Templars - or city guard - had found this woman standing over the mess, shrugging blithely and saying, “Well, what can you do.”  Clearly, she was not one for the big picture, and tended to think in the short term only.  Which had worked out for her thus far - evidenced mostly by the fact that she was not dead - but the lack of foresight had to have taken its toll on her.  Yet here she was, strolling into what could be another mess without regard for the consequences.  “Hawke…”

“Yes, Cullen?” she asked.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted from her.  He knew that she had been through quite a bit--- “quite a bit”.  That was putting it mildly.  She would have been better off facing the Blight back in Lothering than what she had gone through in Kirkwall.  She had experienced enough to break a stronger woman, and yet here she stood, flirting with him, as though her history with Anders meant nothing.  He couldn’t just ignore that like she obviously could.  She was attractive and charming, smart and witty; he was not entirely opposed to her intentions.  But he wouldn’t feel comfortable with proceeding until the obvious was talked about. “Did you love him?” he asked before he could ponder the question too much further.

“Did I---?”  Hawke took an almost unexpected step back, eyebrows lowering in consternation.  The question startled her.  “Did I love him?”  She looked down at the stone under their feet, as though the shattered remains of what had been a light-hearted conversation there might let her see where the question had come from so suddenly.  She looked back up at him.  “…Anders?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”  Hawke looked as though she was trying to decide whether to laugh or frown as various emotions flashed in her eyes.  Amused and confused, she half-turned away as she considered the question.  “Did I love him…” she mused under her breath, to herself.  What a question to be asked!  And yet, it had stopped her in her tracks and was forcing her to think on things she had done her utmost to bury in a dark, forgotten corner of her mind.  “Why?”  She looked back at Cullen with a questioning sort of smile.  “Why would you ask that?”  Her question wasn’t accusatory, but Cullen felt that it should have been.  He really had no place to ask that, he realized.

But he had; there was no taking it back.  And it was something that needed to be discussed if she really intended on continuing down this blind path of whatever she was trying to do.  Flirt.  Seduce.  Court.  Cullen doubted she even knew.  “Because you weren’t… well, he couldn’t make you happy,” he said, earning a surprised “huh!” as Hawke’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs.  “And if you weren’t happy….  Did you love him?”

“I…”  It was becoming more and more clear that no one had actually asked her this question outright before.  Her difficulty in answering, at the very least, indicated that she had her own doubts about the topic.  “I… did…” she said very slowly, almost as though she didn’t trust her own words.  “Yes… I did,” she said, a little firmer.  “But… I don’t see how that’s entirely …relevant,” she finished.

Cullen sighed; it was a very relevant question, he thought.  “Because you’ve been hurt,” he said gently.  “Many times.  And I suspect that Anders is the cause of more scars that you’re willing to admit.”

Hawke chuckled, bitterly.  “That is unfortunately true, yes,” she muttered.  “So, you won’t …hm.  You won’t humor me because I’m… I’m scarred?” she asked, words sharper than she had intended.

“On the contrary,” Cullen said quickly; he hadn’t meant to imply that at all, merely that she needed to consider the repercussions, “I think those scars are all the more reason that you should be… crudely put, but as you said, ‘humored’.  But not before they’re acknowledged.”  He took a step towards her now, reaching out to put a hand lightly on her arm.  “You’ve been hurt, Hawke; you can’t just ignore that.”

“We’ve all been hurt,” she countered, failing entirely to meet his eyes.  “But wounds heal.  And I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m not entirely ready to reopen the deeper ones.”

“Of course,” Cullen agreed softly.  “Hawke.”  He reached up to touch her cheek, turning her back to face him.  “For what it’s worth, if you need someone to talk to---”

“No,” she cut him off.  She frowned, and reached up to put her hand over his.  “Don’t say that.  I don’t want your pity, and you don’t deserve my burdens.”  She sounded like she was trying to reject him, but when she looked up at him, her eyes were pleading.  “I want to believe that if I don’t acknowledge it, it’ll go away, like a bad dream.”

Perhaps, then, she had thought these things through.  She was, however, only avoiding things that needed to be faced head-on.  “You know that’s not the case.”

Hawke sighed, leaning into his hand.  “I know,” she said.  “Cullen, I won’t do this,” she continued in almost a whisper.  “I won’t drag you down with me.  That’s all that can possibly come from you trying to ‘help’ me.  I don’t need help.  I need… I want to escape from the pain, not face it.  For once---”  She chuckled, closing her eyes.  “For once, I mistakenly hoped that maybe, just maybe, something could be simple.”

Cullen stifled a sigh.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe it was better for her, for now, to avoid the topic entirely.  There would be a day when she would indeed need to face it and acknowledge it, hopefully even accept it.  But maybe, just maybe, she was right in that today didn’t have to be that day.  “Hawke,” he said, leaning forward, running his thumb over the fading scar on her cheek, “You’ve been alone for too long.  I’d like to be here for you, and if all you need for now is an escape…”

“It’s not fair of me to ask that of you,” she said.

“I offer it willingly.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m some broken… thing.”

“I won’t.”

“I’d really rather if you could just continue seeing me as that hero in Varric’s book.”

“I always will.”

“I don’t… I…”  Her arguments were falling apart, they both knew.  “Cullen, I… I just want…”  She sighed, and leaned closer.  Then chuckled lightly.  “Actually, if I’m honest,” she breathed against his lips, “I don’t know what I want anymore.  But I think you’ll do nicely.”  She tilted her head slightly, and kissed him, softly.  It was a question, but not for him.  Some semblance of an answer must have come to her, because all at once, she pulled closer with an almost inaudible moan, reaching up to hold his face in both her hands as she kissed him deeper.  Desperate.  Cullen held her close, held her gently, and kissed her back with certainty that whatever was going to happen, she was safe.  Safe from the world, safe from her past.  Safe from herself.

Slowly, deliberately but tenderly, she broke away.  Her cheeks were red, and her hands hesitant on his cheeks.  She smiled, chuckling under her breath.  “Cullen,” she said, voice breathy.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning in to kiss her again.

“I’m supposed to meet Varric and Alice for drinks.”

He stopped.  Cullen pulled back slightly to see her face.  She was all smiles, and the pain that had begun to creep into her eyes earlier was entirely gone.  “I’m sorry?” he asked, unsure if he had heard her correctly.

“Drinks,” she repeated.  “Varric said that Alice wanted to ask about the pranks I used to pull, and I’m supposed to meet them for drinks so we can talk.”  When Cullen failed entirely to express any understanding about why she was mentioning this, she laughed again.  “I’m sorry; I know that sounds out of place.  But…

“Okay, look:  twenty minutes ago, I would have had no problem telling you that I was going to meet them for drinks and cheerfully bidding you ‘good day’ as I left to meet them,” she explained.  “But now, here, like this--- I knew I was going to have to leave you soon to meet them.  I didn’t think it would be difficult, but it is, because you’re holding me, and you kissed me, and that’s actually exactly what I wanted, but it’s harder to think when you’re so--- so--- mm, no.”  She cut herself off abruptly, and leaned up to kiss him again, but short and quick.  “When you look like that,” she continued, “I don’t want to leave, and I laughed because you look like that and it makes me want to kiss you again.”

“Look like… like… what?” he asked, still trying to grasp what she was talking about.

“All hot and bothered,” she said simply.  “You look harried, like someone caught you on your way out of the bath and started asking you about the weather.  It’s like you know exactly what you want to do, but you can’t, because you’re being talked at.”  Hawke smiled.  “Sorry, I talk when I get nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” he repeated with a slight smile.  “Why?”

“Because you’re a Templar?” she said teasingly.

“Really?” he asked, taken aback.

“No, of course not,” she said cheerfully with another giggle.  “I’m nervous because I want to see what it is that you want to do when someone’s not talking at you,” she told him.  “Because I think it’s exactly what I want to do, too.  But I can’t, because I have to meet Varric and Alice for drinks.  And I’m nervous that if I leave you like this, I won’t ever get to find out what that thing is that you want to do.”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling.  “Oh, Hawke, you shouldn’t worry about that.  Trust me, if we can find the time later, I will be more than happy to show you what it is that I want to do.”

She laughed.  “Oh, good.  Good, that’s definitely what I wanted to hear.  Because I need to meet Varric and Alice for drinks---”

“You’ve said that,” he noted, amused.

“I have, yes,” she agreed.  She was giddy, smiling a little too wide and giggling a little too much.  “I have said that because I’m going to meet them for drinks and they’re going to ask why I’m late, and I won’t get to tell them, because I can’t admit that I’m trying to seduce their Commander.”

Cullen chuckled, and leaned forward to kiss her again.  “Then it sounds like you should get going before they get too suspicious.  Don’t worry,” he assured her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as they broke apart, “you’ll still have plenty of chances to try to seduce me.”

“Ha!  Perfect.  Well then, _Commander_ ,” she said playfully.  “I will see you around.”

“I look forward to it,” he agreed with a smile.


	4. fortification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric has some words to say

_ f o u r - f o r t i f i c a t i o n _

Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,   
I shall embrace the light.  I shall weather the storm.   
I shall endure.   
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.   
_ Trials 1:10 _

“So,” Varric began as he and Hawke were walking the battlements in silence.  They often would--- walk the battlements, that is, not the “in silence” part.  It was a chance for them to catch up away from eavesdroppers, and a chance for Hawke to see more of Skyhold during her brief visits.  She would chatter on and on about various places she had visited recently, or reminisce about “the good old days” back in Kirkwall, or give her varying opinions on the state of the Inquisition.  The first few days she had spent with the Inquisition, she had talked about absolutely anything to fill the silence.  Varric had suspected it was her attempt at avoiding questions from him about what had happened with Anders.  When she showed up alone in Lowtown, months ago, she had explained very briefly what had happened - something along the lines of, “he left, I came back here; the ale still sucks; how have you been?” - but had done just about everything to avoid the topic otherwise.  And yet, during their walk today, so far, Hawke had said exceedingly little.  And her silence spoke volumes.  “So,” Varric began as they walked, “you and our Commander?”

Hawke smirked so he couldn’t see, hiding it with a glance out at the courtyard where a few soldiers were sparring.  “Me and your Commander?  I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Varric agreed.  “I’ll skip the part about how he stuttered during his report this morning when he saw you in the back of the room, then.  Might as well skip over the giggle you hid in return, while I’m at it.”

“And don’t forget to neglect to mention the blush that rose in his cheeks as a result,” Hawke encouraged.

Varric chuckled.  “But you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“None at all.”

Hawke had always been playful and sarcastic, cheerful to a painful degree, and kind to a fault.  The combination of humor and compassion was one of the reasons that Varric liked her so much.  But after her return from whatever it was that had happened, or been happening, with Anders, Varric was able to realize that Hawke had become disturbingly… quiet.  Dark around the edges.  The shadowy spaces between her optimism and enjoyment of the world around her, the cracks in her happiness, were growing and consuming everything else.  Her playfulness was more subtle, her sarcasm more biting.  Her cheerfulness had slipped down a few notches to “hesitant joy”, and even her kindness was hovering somewhere between “concern” and “gentleness”, nothing like the overwhelming warmth she had once exhibited towards everyone.

Varric had decided - rightly so - to respect Hawke’s unspoken wishes to not talk about it, and did his best to continue on, business as usual.  But seeing her like that was painful when he could still remember the woman she once had been.

Yet here she was, joking just like she used to.  The darkness that had been closing in around her, slowly but surely enveloping her very core, was being held back by a glow that Varric was not entirely unsurprised to recognize as the same one that had graced her character the first time she and Anders confessed that their feelings for each other were more than casual affection.  It was good to see Hawke’s smile reach her eyes once again, but at the same time, Varric worried it wouldn’t last.  After what had happened last time….

“Y’know what,” Varric said after another moment of silence passed between them, “good for you, Bubbles.  If he makes you happy, that’s good enough for me.”

A serene smile replaced the mischievous smirk on her lips.  “Thank you, Varric.  But.  You did say that last time, too.  And we both remember how that one turned out.”

Varric looked up at her, but she was just smiling calmly back at him.  He thought, maybe, there was a flash of pain behind her emerald eyes, but nothing tangible slipped past.  She was far too practiced at hiding her intentions to let even him glean something she did not wish.  “Well,” he conceded with a sort of shrug.  “Curly doesn’t really seem like the ‘blowing things up’ type.”

Hawke laughed, and Varric was happy to hear it was the same light-hearted, sincere laugh he remembered.  “Good!” she agreed cheerily.  “My goodness, I would hate to have to go through all that again.  Could you imagine?  Maker, at that point, I would begin to think it must just be me.”

* * *

Hawke was happy.

That was all that mattered to him, but as her friend - best friend, really - Varric wanted to make sure it would last as long as possible.  He knew Hawke wouldn’t stay with the Inquisition; one way or another, when the business with the Wardens was sorted out, he knew she would be off on her next adventure.  Since her separation from Anders, he noticed that she was terribly uncomfortable staying in one place for too long.  This was likely a result of the better part of the past four years being spent on the run.  Consequently, he could only monitor her happiness for a short time.

“Varric,” Cullen greeted him on the afternoon that Varric had decided the conversation needed to be had.  It had been nearly two weeks since Hawke and the Commander had shared their moment on the battlements.  Responsibility - and Hawke’s inability to stay put for more than a three day stretch - had kept them from spending very much time alone together, but their sidelong glances and resulting blush and smiles were not going unnoticed.  “Is there something I can help you with?  Have you spoken with Leliana yet?”

“I did,” Varric said with a slight chuckle.  “Don’t worry; she shouldn’t be bothering you about that anymore.  But if you’ve got a minute, I wanted to talk about Hawke.”

“Oh?”  Cullen looked up from his desk, where he had been pouring over a newly procured map of the Frostback Mountains.  “Er, yes?  What about her?”

Varric rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the room while he wondered how to word this all properly.  What he wanted to say was simple:  “Don’t break her heart, or you’ll find yourself staring down Bianca one morning.”  But he couldn’t just come out and say that.  Threatening the Commander of the Inquisition was… generally not a great idea.  “You two seem to be getting along,” Varric said finally, simply.

Cullen chuckled, maybe a bit uneasily.  “Y-yes, I suppose we are,” he said evasively, looking back down at the map without bothering to see it.  “She seems to be the same lively young woman I first met back in Kirkwall, if a bit wiser for the time passed.”

“Right, well.  In that ‘time passed’, you… do realize what she’s been through?” Varric asked.

“I’m assuming nothing particularly favorable,” Cullen agreed, “but I haven’t pressed the issue.”

“Likely for the best, but.”  Varric stopped.  No, maybe he should tell Cullen to “press the issue”.  Maybe if he could realize just how much pain Hawke was carrying with her, he might realize how much she needed a steady presence in her life.  “But,” he continued after a short moment of contemplation, “you do know that those experiences have… scarred her?  And that some of those are deeper than she’ll admit?”

Cullen frowned lightly at the map, and glanced back up at Varric.  “Yes, of course,” he said.  “I’m sorry, but was there a point to this?”

“The point is,” Varric said, picking up this train of thought, “that she’s not going to be around for very long.”

Cullen’s frown deepened almost imperceptibly.  “Isn’t she?”

“I think she’s used to life on the road, now,” Varric explained.  “She won’t be able to stay in one place for very long.  She can barely do it now.  She keeps disappearing off to Crestwood, or just down the mountains to get away from all this, and---”

“Sorry," Cullen interrupted, “but what does this have to do with me?”

Varric gave a short shrug.  He thought it was obvious, but he was never above spelling these things out.  “I just want you to be aware of what you’re getting into.”

Cullen thought about it for a moment, mulling it over in his mind.  He sat back in his chair.  “Is this an attempt to dissuade me?” he guessed.  “I can understand your concern for her, Varric, but I would think it’s ultimately her choice.”

“Dissuade you?” Varric repeated.  “Andraste’s tits, no.  If anything, I’m trying to encourage you.”

“You are?” Cullen asked, sounding surprised.

Varric laughed.  “It probably doesn’t sound like it, huh?  All right, let me put it this way:

“Hawke’s been hurt by the man she loves one too many times for my liking,” he explained.  “She’s my best friend, and I’m not about to see that happen again.  So if you intend to… I don’t know,  _ be with _ her in the kind of way that would put you in the position to hurt her like that, just know that it’s not going to be for very long, in the grand scheme of things.  That being said, however, she needs someone right now; someone who will care for her in a way that I, as her friend, can’t, that will let her work through her worries.  Is that clear enough?”

Cullen contemplated this, looking around the room as he took it in.  “So, what you’re saying is:  I should continue this courtship for the sake of giving Hawke someone who cares about her, even if for a short time?”

“Courtship?” Varric said with a slight snort of laughter.  “I suppose that’s better than what I was going to call it.  But yes, Curly, that’s exactly what I’m saying.  Can you manage to not break her heart for a month or two?”

Cullen shook his head slightly with a small laugh.  “Is that all?”

“Not too hard, right?” Varric agreed with a slight smirk.

“I suppose not.  I’ll do my best, then.”

Varric sighed to himself as he turned to go.  “I pray that’s good enough.”


	5. apex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke and Cullen finally have a chance to connect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So armor, right?  Yeah, I did a minimal amount of research about medieval armor, but in all honesty, I have no idea what Cullen’s wearing.  It’s really only relevant very briefly in this chapter, so as a result, I might have taken some shots in the dark.  I feel bad for taking shortcuts - usually I’d go out of my way to study medieval armor, compare it to the characters, find the right terms, make sure I talk about it all correctly - but this story isn’t about armor (as interesting of a topic as that may be).  This is about Hawke.  And in my mind, Hawke could give two shits about what kind of armor Cullen is wearing.  I mean, honestly? I think she’s got some more important things to be worrying about in this scene.  -wink-
> 
> PS, this chapter might be one of the reasons for the M-rating.  So if you aren’t into sex and stuff, you can skip right on over this.

_ f i v e - a p e x _

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.   
_ Benedictions 4:11 _

The sun had set, and everything was winding down.  Hawke had appeared in Cullen’s office very briefly just before sundown, just long enough to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and to let him know she would be back that evening and that they should talk.  Cullen had started to ask her “about what?”, and what should he be preparing himself for, but Hawke had just smiled brightly and waved as she left.

The woman was maddening in the best way.

Cullen had finished reading the reports that had been delivered to him from one of Leliana’s men that morning, and had drafted enough responses that he could stand back from his desk and watch the sun set over the mountains through his window.  Hawke said she’d be back that evening and he had no idea what to expect.  “We should talk,” she had said cheerfully.  Cheerfully?  After Varric’s advice earlier that afternoon, Cullen found himself wondering what they could possibly have to talk about that could make her so happy.

He heard the door open and close quietly.  “Evening, Commander,” Hawke’s voice floated to him from the other side of the room.

“Hawke,” Cullen started, turning around to face her.  She was right next to him when he turned, standing too close, smiling, moving closer still.  She was quick, quiet, betraying her recent months of combat-stealth training.  Cullen started to speak again, but Hawke’s hands were snaking up around his shoulders, one of her hands weaving into his hair.

“How was your day?” she asked in a low voice, raising herself onto her toes to lean closer and tilt her head, almost kissing him but instead letting her words spill over his lips.  “You seemed to be working hard every time I glanced in.”

She wasn’t making this easy.  Cullen wanted to lift her up and ravish her on his desk, to hold her close and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.  She was practically asking for it with the way her hand was now tickling and tracing his jaw, her thumb gently running over his cheek.  He sighed, wrapping his arms around her but adjusting slightly to kiss her forehead.  "You said we need to talk,” he told her quietly.

She giggled, though.  “Oh, so I did.  Mostly I just wanted to ask you if you’re really okay with me being a mage and all, but honestly, I didn’t mean the kind of ‘talk’ that has so many words.”

Cullen considered her for a moment. She was smiling serenely - if teasingly - up at him.  “Really?”

“Really,” Hawke assured him.  “I still haven’t made good on my promise to attempt to seduce you.  But let’s get my question out of the way first.  I’m a mage, and you are a Templar.”

“Was a Templar,” he corrected.

“Was, are---”  She dismissed the grammatical slip with an airy gesture.  “Regardless, you’re supposed to hunt mages, or at the very least, keep them under lock and key.  And while I certainly have no problems with  _ you  _ locking me up---”

“Hawke---”

“---I’m still curious how you feel about the whole thing,” she continued, ignoring his interruption.

He looked at her for a very long moment, then leaned down to kiss her.  “I honestly don’t think of you as a mage anymore,” he admitted.  “You were always out of reach for the Templars, so really, you were just a nuisance to us more than a threat.”  She laughed, and he smiled.  “I should probably be asking you how you feel about me having been a Templar.”

Hawke giggled brightly.  “How about this:  I won’t use any blood magic on you, and you won’t have to use your fancy magic-blocking skillset on me.  Deal?”

“I think we can work with that,” he agreed.

“Very good.  So.  This is the part where I try to seduce you, right?” she asked, pulling a little closer, putting her arms over his shoulders and kissing his jaw lightly.

“I suppose it is.”  He glanced around the office as her hands slid back around in between them, touching every bit of skin they could.  Cullen briefly wondered where this affection of hers had come from.  She was already working on removing his pauldrons, murmuring something about armor or duty, or some kind of innuendo regarding working hard all day.  They had had very few moments alone since their chat on the battlements many days prior - little more than succinct chats about what they had been up to recently, along with some stolen kisses - and her eagerness to get them both out of their clothes was perhaps a little surprising.  Then again, she had never worried about speaking her mind; this was likely just an extension of that:  ignoring societal standards and proceeding simply as desired, regardless of consequences.

“Commander,” she broke through his musing, slipping the fur from his shoulders, “if your armor is not off in ten seconds, I am going to rip it off without regard to potential damages.”

He looked down at her.  Her cheeks were pink, her lips flushed and smirking, her eyes bright and expectant.  “Hawke---”

“Nine,” she said, slipping her own pauldrons off; “eight.”

For all her brashness, the color in her cheeks betrayed her hesitancy and doubts.  Cullen felt a surge of affection for the woman in front of him.  Well, a surge of the kind of  _ affection _ that would explain what he was about to do.  She had barely unbuttoned the top button of her tunic when Cullen had managed to shed his breastplate, couters, and gauntlets; he lifted her in his arms, kissing her deeply enough to elicit a small squeak of surprise, moving back towards his desk and setting her on top.

She responded eagerly - perhaps even over-eagerly, nearly knocking a stack of papers off of his desk - pulling his thin tunic over his head in between kisses, tossing it towards the chair.  Or window.  Or whatever was to her left.  He did the same to hers, but stopped before leaning in to kiss her again.

She sat on the edge of his desk, wearing only her leather leggings - when had she taken her boots or greaves off? - and an expression that made it very difficult not to rip off her remaining clothing and defile her across his desk.  Her cheeks were still flushed bright pink, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.  She whined his name, reaching out to close the space between them when his stillness stretched.  Her skin was marble, her breasts soft and perky, her stomach taut and finely lined.  But what made him stop wasn’t the beauty of the woman in front of him - no, Hawke’s body was more than enough to make him continue without thought - it was the small locket that had bounced onto her chest when he had removed her shirt and settled between her delicately rounded breasts that made him pause.

“Cullen,” Hawke said again, more firmly, tugging him forward.  “You can do more than stare, y’know.”

He reached out, resisting the urge to caress her smooth, pale skin, and instead gently touched the locket.  Just like that, Hawke froze.  He had never seen Hawke as one for jewelry or flashy accessories; her reaction showed that he was right to think this necklace was more than a pretty trinket.

“Ah,” she said.  “Oh, this--- this is---”  She looked down at it, and picked it up off her chest.  “Right.  I’ve gotten so used to wearing it, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“It’s from Anders,” Cullen guessed.

“It… is,” Hawke confirmed, looking at it, fingering it lightly.  “But, y’know, it is also just a necklace.”

“Is it?” Cullen asked doubtfully.  Her reaction to it was not one of “just a necklace”.

Hawke sighed, and carefully, gently, took the small chain over her head and held it in her hand.  “It’s a necklace,” she said pointedly, closing her fingers around it.  “It was silly of me to hold on to it for this long.”

“It’s all right,” Cullen said tenderly, touching her cheek.  “I understand.”

Hawke chuckled, tucking the locket into a pouch on her pants.  “Amazing how a simple piece of jewelry completely ruined that mood.”

“It isn’t just a ‘simple piece of jewelry’ to you, though,” Cullen said.  “If you need to---”

“Sh,” she cut him off abruptly with a finger over his lips.  “No.  Whatever you were going to say, swallow it.  Because here’s the deal:

“You’re worried about me, right?  Because Varric had some words with you earlier.  Sh,” she said again when he started to speak, pressing her finger against his lips.  “No, I know he did; I’m not an idiot.  I know he told you that I’m hurt or in pain or whatever, and I know he implied that I’m a fragile flower that could shatter at your very touch.”  Even Cullen had to smile at that, around her finger.  “But here’s the thing:  I am not.  All I’ve been through has taught me strength, if nothing else.  So what you are going to do right now,” she continued, lowering her voice and pulling him closer, sliding her finger off of his lips, down his chin, and tracing down his bare chest as she spoke, “is get rid of whatever sympathy you might have for me, just for right now, and you are going to completely ravage me on your desk while I do my very best to not entirely alert anyone nearby what we’re up to.”

“No you won’t,” he cut in.

“You’re right, I won’t,” she agreed as her finger landed on his belt.  “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure anyone nearby knows exactly what you’re doing to me.  And you and I are going to have a very good time of it all.  And then, when we’re done, if you still want to know what happened with Anders that makes you all think that you have to walk on eggshells around me, I will tell you.  But only after you have satisfied me so fully that I might not be able to walk tomorrow.

“Deal?”

Cullen considered, but when she started undoing his belt, he knew there really wasn’t much to consider.  Hawke was, if anything, a woman of her word.  And besides that, it was very difficult to ignore a rather attractive mostly-naked woman sitting on his desk.  “Just one condition,” he said.

“And what would that be?”

He smirked, leaning forward.  “My desk might not be the only place I want to … _ ravage _ you.”

She giggled as he kissed her.  “I’m sure we can work something out.”

The pace picked up once again, right where they left off.  Hawke pulled out Cullen’s belt with an unnecessary flourish, letting it fly from her hand and land in one of the bookshelves.  Gentleness, carefulness, were not things she was very concerned with at the moment.  Cullen tugged at her leggings, and she lifted herself up so he could pull them off, and when he went in for another kiss, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and slid her other hand into his pants.

The sheer assertiveness of her action made him break away with a gasp.  She giggled, tugging him closer again.  “Too sudden for you?” she asked against his lips, stroking her hand along his cock with great care.  When she received only a moan and fierce, passionate kiss in response, she took this as an indication that it was indeed just the right level of sudden.  Trying not to laugh through the kiss at his insistent response, she pushed and tugged at his pants to get them down around his hips.

She was still stroking with deliberation, and turned her head slightly to break off the kissing.  Instead, Cullen trailed kisses along her cheek, down to her neck.  “I think,” she breathed into his ear, “that I would very much like this - ” a playful tug, “ - inside me.”

“I think,” Cullen said, leaning forward to make her lean back; she kept herself up with the arm on his shoulders, “we can arrange something.”  He pulled her forward so she was on the very edge of his desk and pressed his cock against her pussy.  She said something he didn’t quite catch - or, more likely, ignored because it was a stupid and/or smart-ass remark about sheathing a sword or polishing a staff or something; he had already figured out that a good portion of what Hawke had to say could be entirely ignored - and pushed into her painstakingly gradually.  Partly to enjoy every inch, but mostly because it elicited a rather delicious moan from her.

“MmmmmmCullen,” Hawke whined, wrapping a leg around him to push him forward.  “You’d better fuck me harder than that.”

“Anxious?” he asked, surprised to hear his voice sounded breathless.  He kissed her, letting one of his hands slide down her side to settle on her hip.  “You should learn some patience.”

“Maybe when you’re not buried inside me to the hilt?” she suggested with a smirk.  “Because right now, I’m not going to be very patient.”

He slid out a little, equally slowly, holding her hip to steady her, and then went back in.  He kissed her, and did it again, just to feel her moan through their lips.  He sped up, little by little, enjoying the little noises Hawke made.  She was indeed making good on her pledge to make sure anyone nearby knew what they were doing, making absolutely no effort to be quiet.  Luckily, it was late enough that there was likely no one out for a stroll up this way.  Though Cullen was finding it harder and harder to care if there was as he fell into a steady rhythm.  He moved both hands to her hips to gain more leverage.  One of Hawke’s hands was weaving through his hair, pulling him down to kiss her; the other was clawing at whatever skin she could reach:  his stomach, his chest, his back, his arms.

“Harder,” she managed through what had become short, wet, desperately passionate kisses.  “Fuck me like you mean it,” she insisted when his nominal increase in speed was clearly insufficient.

“Like I mean it?” he repeated.  He pushed her onto her back on his desk, leaning over her.  “You need to learn some manners, Champion.”

She laughed.  “I’ve heard that one before,” she agreed.  But her amusement was quickly dissolved and replaced with gasps and moans and very incessant noises when he sped up again.  At this angle, it was rather significantly easier to give her what she was apparently looking for, and Cullen was only too happy to oblige her.

Then came a very prominent gasp.  “Don’t stop!” she called, grabbing one of his arms.  “Ah--- ah!  C-Cullen---”  Her words turned into a kind of half-yelled, half-whined “aaahh!” as her legs tightened around him and she writhed in pleasure, successfully knocking over the stack of papers she had only  _ almost _ disturbed earlier.  But Cullen couldn’t care less.  He leaned down and kissed her; she leaned up and met him halfway, holding his face in both hands.

He started to slow when she began coming down, but she sat up with him.  “Commander,” she said very seriously, her voice slightly cracked from its recent overuse, but clear and bright, just like her eyes, “keep going.  Don’t you dare stop.  Put me against the wall, too.  I want some bruises to show off.”

When Cullen looked a little startled by this statement, she laughed.  “Bruises.  On my back.  From fucking me against a stone wall?  Have you never noticed them on previous conquests’ backs?”

“Previous---?”

“Sh, just pick me up and put me against that wall,” she said, cutting him off impatiently and pointing behind him.  She wasn’t really in the mood for conversation right now.  “I’m not made of glass, Commander, so stop treating me like I am.”

Smirking, he kissed her again and lifted her legs to wrap around his waist.  “Duly noted,” he said, lifting her from his desk.


	6. testimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke tells her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Hawke’s going to tell?  This is my headcanon for what happens between DA2 and Inquisition.  More-or-less.  I mean… when prepping for the final battle in DA2, and Anders is all, “I’m going to be on the run, and you don’t want that”, and then Hawke tells him, “then we’ll be on the run together”, what exactly is she expecting?  Dude’s losing his mind, thanks to Justice.  C’mon Hawke.  Where’s your sense of self-preservation?  You knew shit wasn’t gonna work out.  C’mon now.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. It is endlessly enjoyable for me to revisit this as I post it. :D

_ s i x - t e s t i m o n y _

In the absence of light, shadows thrive.  
_ Threnodies 8:21 _

Two hours later, they were laying in Cullen’s bed, naked, half-covered with the blanket, sweaty, satisfied, and smiling.  Hawke was on her side, cuddled up to Cullen who had his arm around her, resting on her waist.  “I could go for another round,” she commented, breaking the happy silence between them as she traced little patterns on his chest.

Cullen laughed and kissed the top of her head.  “We’ll see.”

Hawke chuckled lightly as well and kissed his shoulder.  “Though, I suppose first I did say I’d tell you what happened.”

Though her tone remained light, the atmosphere of the room seemed to get a little heavier.  Cullen glanced down at her.  Hawke still had a pleased little smile on her face, but it had began to wane ever so slightly.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said with a teasing slap on his chest.  “I know you want to hear what happened.”

“I do, but only if you truly want to talk about it.”

“Eh,” she said with a little shrug.  “I suppose it’s about time someone other than Varric heard about it.”  She took a measured breath and began tracing mindless patterns on Cullen’s chest again as she spoke.  “I loved him,” she began.  “Despite everything he had done, I loved him.  I would have trusted him with my life.  And I knew that he would never do anything intentionally to hurt me.  The way he used to hold me at night, the things he would whisper to me as I fell asleep…”  She sighed, closing her eyes.  “I loved him, and he loved me.  If nothing else, that I knew for sure.

“After we left Kirkwall, he and I travelled through the Free Marches, helping the rebel mages wherever we could.  We couldn’t ever stay with one group for too long, though.  They resented his presence after a time.  Understandably; a lot of mages considered his rash actions the reason why they had to hide as apostates, and blamed him, personally, for their troubles.  He had mentioned he wasn’t surprised about their attitudes, but this constant rejection began to weigh on him.  I think it was after the third or fourth group we left that he finally began to understand more fully just what the consequences were of his actions in Kirkwall.  And yet… he would never talk to me about it.

“Any time I tried to open a conversation about it, he would just smile at me, and assure me that everything was fine.”  Hawke sighed again, opening her eyes.  Her brow creased with concern, or worry.  “We both knew he was lying, of course, but if he wouldn’t willingly talk to me… well, what could I do?

“So we just… continued travelling.  Eventually, we met up with Isabela, and she took us to Ferelden for a time.  I thought it would be good for Anders to get away from the Free Marches for a while.  I talked about visiting Val Royeaux and Anders insisted he would never step foot in the Orlesian capital.”  Hawke giggled a little to herself, presumably at the memory of the discussion.  “I was, admittedly, a little excited to be back in the place I had once called home.  And so we travelled through Ferelden and skirted the border of Orlais, and then…”  A slight frown punctuated her speech, but she picked up again after a short pause.  “The mage-Templar conflict was not confined to the Free Marches, of course.  But seeing how far it had truly spread….  I think the burden of responsibility was slowly …breaking him.  And-and all I could do was watch.”

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Cullen comforted her when Hawke paused again.

“I did,” she agreed a little too severely.  Cullen wondered if she was just simply agreeing, or if she was trying to convince herself.  Likely the latter; she continued, “And I know it’s not my fault, what happened.  But….”  She sighed and pulled a little closer under the blanket and Cullen adjusted accordingly.  “One night, we made camp on the edge of Lake Calenhad,” she said quietly.  “Anders put up all the usual wards around the campsite, and we sat in silence while I prepared dinner.”

“Silence?” Cullen cut in.

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke said.  “See, by that point in our travels, silence had become a daily norm.  Anders… wasn’t exactly one for small talk anymore.  So, I had to watch as he retreated further and further into himself.  Further away from me.  That space between us grew every single day, and it… well, it hurt to watch.  I honestly don’t think he ever knew just what it was doing to me, seeing him like that.  If he did know…” she cleared her throat.  “Well.

“Anyway.  After we ate, I was all set to simply call it a night and fall into my usual exhausted, dreamless sleep.  But before I could, he…”  A slight smile curled her lips.  “Anders just kissed me, without a word.  He would do that periodically throughout the day; looking back, maybe it was his way of saying things that he couldn’t express in words anymore.  Sometimes those kisses led to… hmm.”

“Sex?” Cullen prompted as she tried to find the right word.

Hawke giggled lightly.  “Well, yes, but more than that.  Anders didn't always respond to my words, but he did respond to touch, so. Physical contact - sex - for us had become… it was almost the only way to communicate with him any more.  So it wasn’t just an expression of lust; for us, it was an expression of love and affection, desire and need.  It was desperate and messy.  Loud,” she added with another small giggle.  “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say it was the kind of passionate love-making usually reserved for the night before the world ends.”

“Ah,” Cullen said.  “So when you said that being with him was like the world was about to end…”

“Yes, I was also referring to the desperation between the sheets, so to say,” she finished his thought.  “But, to go back to that night on Lake Calenhad…

“Before I could retire to my bedroll that night, he kissed me.  But it wasn’t like the other times he had kissed me that day.  This time was… it was gentle, and quiet.  There was no embrace to accompany it, just a slight touch on my cheek.  And something about the way he broke away without moving away, and when all he said was, ‘I love you; you know that, right?’...”  Hawke sighed.  “I thought - in vainest hope - that he was coming back to me.  I thought I had somehow gotten through to him, that he was changing, that this was a sign that we were going to be okay.  I guess I should have known better.

“When I woke up the next morning, Anders was gone.”

Cullen looked down at her suddenly, surprised at how casually the statement had come out.  She was still tracing little patterns on his chest, frowning slightly at her hand’s movements as if she couldn’t recall if she had let the dog in for the night or not.  She did not look as if she had just finished explaining that the man she loved had left her without warning.  “Gone?” Cullen prompted gently when she made no indication that she was going to continue.

“Gone,” Hawke repeated in the same, almost-too conversational tone.  “No note, all of the wards still in place.  Gone, just like that.  So.  I did the only thing I could think to do: I packed up and went back to Kirkwall.  I contacted Isabela, and got lucky that she was at a port town in Ferelden.  She took me back to the Free Marches without asking questions.  I met up with Varric in the Hanged Man, and then Cassandra showed up and snatched him away, and.  Well, here we are.”

“Hawke,” Cullen said in a tone of voice reserved for those with recently passed loved ones, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said curtly, patting his chest in a way that indicated she was in no way desiring sympathy from her story.  “He left.  He left me without a word, and that’s just what happened.  You wanted to know what happened, and there it is.  That’s why Varric thinks I need to be treated like I’m broken.”

“Are you?”

Hawke was still for what felt like a very long time, staring at her hand, before looking up at Cullen.  “Yeah,” she said very noncommittally.  “But we all are, aren’t we?  I mean, you’ve been through your fair share of trouble, between the Ferelden Circle tower and Kirkwall.  You can’t pretend that hasn’t left you a little damaged.  But instead of mages or insane commanding officers being the source of my distress, it’s just one man.  The man I loved lied to me time and again, and I was stupid enough to believe that he could change.  I know--- trust me,  _ I know _  it’s not my fault he led me on again and again, but it  _ is  _ my fault for following him every single time.”

“But here you are,” Cullen said.  “You didn’t follow after him this time.”

She smiled guiltily.  “No,” she agreed.  “I didn’t.  But…”  She chuckled uncomfortably.  “Well, it’s really not important.”

“What’s not?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, patting his chest again.  “Look, I told you what happened, just like I promised.  If you want anything more than that, you might have to strike up another deal with me.”

She seemed eager to change the subject, and as much as he wanted to press on, Cullen conceded for now.  “Oh?” he said.  “What kind of deal?”

Hawke chuckled, and shifted so she could swing one of her legs over his hips and sit up to straddle him, kicking the blanket to his feet.  “How about this,” she suggested, leaning forward to let her hands snake up his stomach and chest.  “Let me ride you until you can’t feel your legs, and I’ll tell you about the time someone else left me without saying goodbye.”

“You’ve been left by multiple people that way?” Cullen asked sharply.

But Hawke just laughed.  “There is a bit of a pattern, isn’t there?  Don’t worry, though; Isabela came back, didn’t she?  But maybe you still want to hear why I spent the weeks of her absence moping around?  Varric did leave a lot out of his book.”

“About you and Isabela?” Cullen asked as Hawke leaned down for a kiss.  “Really?”

Hawke smirked and kissed him again.  “Do we have a deal, Commander?”


	7. insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Hawke's Warden friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this thing where if I’m writing about events that happen in the game, I… don’t. Write about the specific events, that is. Because if you played the game, you know exactly what happened and I don’t want to bore you with recounting details. So forgive the brevity in the last scene in this chapter. After all, this story is about Hawke, not how many dialogue options the Inquisitor can possibly go through with Stroud.

_s e v e n - i n s i g h t s_

For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
And comfort is only Yours to give.  
_Transfigurations 12:6_

Every morning that she found herself in Skyhold, Hawke would appear in the kitchens just before the sun rose to brew her mint tea.  It took a few mornings before the kitchen staff came to expect her; they found it a little strange for the Champion of Kirkwall to be in the kitchen with the servants.  But she was oddly cheerful first thing in the morning, and even the head cook stopped complaining after the fourth morning.  She would joke with them while the water boiled, and tell short stories that sounded outlandish and impossible about her adventures in Kirkwall.  She would recommend various dishes to prepare for upcoming meals, and even though the cook would tell her that they already had meals planned, he would make small notes about her suggestions after she had left.  She would greet them first thing with a grin, and bid them good day with a happy little wave, carrying two mugs of tea out with her.

“Good morning!”  Varric was having a harder time adjusting to her tea habits, however.  She still managed to surprise him every single morning, wrenching him out of sleep in a not wholly unpleasant manner.  The initial annoyance at a sudden awakening usually dissipated quickly upon seeing her smile and smelling the mint.  “I heard Alice say she was finally going to be heading to Crestwood today.”

Varric struggled to sit up, accepting the familiar mug.  He had stayed up a little too late last night, writing a few letters, but Hawke was unforgiving in her morning routine, apparently.  “Yeah?” he mumbled, lifting the mug to his lips.

“I would say something like, ‘it’s about time’, but I know she’s been busy,” Hawke continued.  “I saw Stroud briefly last week; he’s still managing to stay hidden, but the sooner we make it out there, the better.  Are you going to be joining her?”

“Hm?”  Varric looked up at Hawke; he had been staring into his tea while she talked.  “Oh, um.  Really depends how she’s planning on going about things,” he said.  “But I wouldn’t complain about getting out of Skyhold for a while.”

“I can imagine,” she agreed.  “Well.  I’m going to get a head start this morning, then.  I need to make a stop along the way.  Take care, love; I’ll see you later, one way or another.”  She leaned over and planted her usual kiss on his forehead.  “Enjoy your tea.”

And she disappeared as quickly as she appeared.  Varric sat in his bed for a while, holding the mug in both hands, staring into it.  He had never been too much of a morning person, but then again, neither had Hawke.  He wondered what had caused that change in her.  Was it the months of travelling?  Or had her sleep habits deteriorated when she had returned to Kirkwall alone?  Whatever the case was, the shadows beneath her eyes had failed to improve in the past couple weeks.  She still wasn’t sleeping well, he was willing to bet.  Perhaps she wasn’t sleeping at all.  That was a worrying notion.

He could only hope that being in the presence of old friends and new would help her regain a sense of balance in her life.

* * *

“Good morning, Commander,” Hawke’s singsong voice drifted across Cullen’s mind.  He felt her lips on his cheek, and blinked himself awake.  Hawke was smiling at him, perched on the edge of his bed, fully dressed in her armor with her pack at her feet.  “Out of everyone, I’ve always thought you’d be the first one up at sunrise.”

He chuckled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.  “That is usually the case, but I seem to recall someone keeping me up rather late last night.”

“Oh my,” Hawke said, sounding playfully affronted.  “Well, that person clearly needs to be talked to.  The Inquisition’s Commander needs to be in top form.  Whoever this person is obviously has little regard for authority; they must be dealt with immediately, lest you continue to be kept up through the night by what I’m sure is a very poor attempt at sabotaging the Inquisition’s forces, one man at a time.”

Cullen smirked and leaned towards her.  “I’ll be sure to give whoever it is a very stern talking to,” he said before kissing her.  He smelled - tasted - something familiar on her.  “Is that mint?” he asked.

“Hm?  Oh!  Yes, I have a cup of mint tea every morning,” she told him.  “You can really taste that?”

“I can.”  He leaned in to kiss her again.  “Good thing I like mint.”  Hawke giggled, reaching up to put a hand on his cheek and touching her nose briefly to his.  “So,” he said when he broke away, but stayed close, “why do you look like you’re leaving?”

“Because I’m …leaving?” she said with a smirk.  “Alice - sorry, _the Inquisitor_ \- said yesterday that she was planning on leaving for Crestwood this morning, and I was going to get there ahead of her to make sure everything’s still in order with Stroud.”

“Mm,” Cullen hummed in a sort of lazy agreement, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand.  “Fair enough.  Well, travel safe.”

“But of course,” Hawke said, kissing him again.  “I did spend a handful of years travelling all over Thedas; I think I can handle the trip to Crestwood.”

“Will you be back?” he asked her.

“You really think that - after last night - I’m just going to disappear?”  Hawke laughed.  “Oh, no, Commander, you aren’t getting off the hook that easily.”

Cullen smiled and kissed her one last time before she stood.  “Good.  Then take care of yourself, Hawke.”

“I will,” she assured him, picking up and shouldering her pack.  “After all, someone has to.”  With a smile and a wave, she descended the ladder, and Cullen heard the door below open and close.

He laid back against his pillows again.  Staring at the ceiling, he rubbed his mouth.  Mint.  Where had he smelled mint recently?

* * *

The rain was pouring from the sky, pelting the land endlessly, mercilessly.  It disturbed the surface of the lake, turning it into a muddy mess.  The clouds hung heavy in the sky, ceaseless in their efforts to drown the land below.

Hawke stood outside the cave in which her Warden friend was hiding out.  She stared out at the landscape, letting the rain drench her, soaking through all layers of clothing to her very skin.  She watched the rain chip away at the landscape as it turned the roads into little more than inch-deep streams of mud; she listened to the lightning striking in the distance, crackling through the air; she felt goosebumps on her skin as she became thoroughly sodden.

There was a certain calmness to the chaos around her.  Nature was rebelling against unknown forces - though, if she had to guess, it was the green glow and fog out in the lake - and was doing its best to make the day as miserable as possible for anyone out travelling in this weather.  But Hawke liked it.  The discomfort from her sopping garments, the noise of the rain and wind, and the very gloomy state of everything around her was exactly enough to keep her mind from focusing.  And when her mind couldn’t focus, she felt serene.  The further apart her recollections about her past were, the larger the spaces between grew, the easier it was to forget about the constant throbbing pain in her heart.

Lightning struck too close, and she jumped.  Then she laughed, though it was lost in the noise of the storm.  When she looked up the road again, she saw a small group battling their way through the gale.  It was, indeed, the Inquisitor.

“Glad you made it,” Hawke greeted them when they approached.  “I just got here myself.  My contact with the Wardens should be at the back of the cave.”  With a smile and inviting gesticulation, she said, “Shall we?”

Alice - accompanied by Varric and two other companions that Hawke had yet to meet, an uptight looking woman who gave her little more than a passing glance and a young man with a wide brimmed hat that hid his face - seemed grateful to be out of the rain.  Hawke followed them into the cave, and Varric fell back in step with her.  “Been waiting long?” he asked.

“No more than an hour or so,” she said with a shrug.

“And you stood in the rain for an hour?”  Varric looked up at her with an expression somewhere between judgemental and concerned.

She laughed.  “Of course not.  Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Well…”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” she cut him off; Varric chuckled.

They found Stroud in the cave, as Hawke said.  Alice questioned him about the Wardens, and Hawke listened carefully.  Stroud had told her very little about what the actual cause of concern was; all he had told her was that he had left Adamant when the Warden-Commander started taking steps that led down a dangerous path.  So when Stroud said that the Orlesian Wardens were currently all hearing the Calling, Hawke couldn’t help but cut in.

“The Calling?” she repeated.  “You never mentioned that, Stroud.”

He frowned, looking away from her.  “It was a Warden matter; I didn’t think it necessary to worry you about it until we were able to speak with the Inquisitor.”

Hawke mirrored his frown, but stayed quiet when Alice began asking about what, exactly, was the Calling.  Every Warden in Orlais was hearing the Calling?  While Hawke was relatively certain that Anders was continuing to avoid Orlais - out of some misplaced disgust with the Empire, from what she had gathered, though she admittedly had never bothered to delve too deeply into his precise reasons for disliking Orlais - Hawke couldn’t help but wonder if he had wandered too close to the Empire and heard the Calling.  Would it affect him like the others?  Would he listen to the whispers, to the nightmares, to the noise in his mind and travel to the Deep Roads to face his end?  Would Justice let him?  Stroud hadn’t wanted to worry her.  Ha!  Well, she was more worried than ever.

“They’re gathering in the Western Approach,” Stroud told Alice, pointing to his map.  “At an ancient ruin.  I can meet you there.”

“Understood,” Alice agreed.  “Give us a couple weeks or so to scout the area and figure out where the Inquisition can set up in the region.  Stay safe, Stroud.”

“And you, Inquisitor.”

Before she left, Alice approached Hawke.  “Will we see you there as well, Hawke?”

“Oh yes,” she agreed, forcing a slight smile.  “I intend to see this matter through, Inquisitor.  In fact, I will likely be back at Skyhold at some point as well.  Varric just falls apart without me, don’t you?” she asked, glancing at him.

“I think you’ve got that backwards, Bubbles.”

Hawke chuckled.  “Well, Inquisitor.  Stroud and I will discuss our next moves.  Take care around Crestwood; the undead have become more vicious in recent days.”

When they left, Hawke was only too quick to round on the Warden.  “The Calling?” she burst out.  “Andraste, bride of the Maker, Stroud.  You should have told me!  Corypheus’ work or no, the Wardens think they’re dying!”

“Hawke---”

“What were you thinking, keeping that from me?  I told you how serious this situation is, didn’t I?  Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him threateningly.

“Calm down, Hawke,” he told her firmly.  “As I said, it was a Warden matter.  And yes,” he continued, raising his voice slightly when he saw Hawke begin to speak, “I am well aware that you have family and friends in the Wardens.  But would you have gained anything from having this knowledge earlier?  You have it now.”

“I could have---”  Hawke frowned.  “If I knew, I…”

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Stroud said.  “Nothing _you_ can do about it, as much as you wish otherwise.  If it will help put your mind at ease, before I left, I did what I could to ensure Carver was taken care of.  Last I heard, he was in Anderfels, perhaps heading towards Weisshaupt, far from Orlais.”

“I’m not worried about Carver,” she mumbled, turning away.  “The ass knows how to handle himself.”

“You’re worried about Anders.”

Hawke swung around sharply to glare at Stroud.  He was frowning slightly at her, but she couldn’t tell if it was sympathetic or disapproving.  “Of course I am,” she said.

“As long as he isn’t in Orlais---”

“I _know_ ,” Hawke interrupted bitterly.  “I know, Stroud.”  She turned away again.  “Look.  Just… stay out of sight, all right?” she said in a tamer tone.  “Don’t let the Wardens find you.  I’ll see you in the Approach.”  Without waiting for a response, she left.

Back out in the rain, she stood for a moment, waiting for the downpour to wash away her thoughts again.  But the turmoil in her mind was too turbulent for something as simple as rain to quiet it.  She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes, letting the deluge buffet her face.  “Anders,” she whispered, voice breaking.  “Wherever you are, please, don’t be dead.”


	8. expatiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke tells another story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we find out that Hawke must really like telling stories! No, but seriously; this is just more headcanon for me. She spent the better part of a decade with Varric; surely she’s picked up something about telling stories? If not how to tell them well, certainly at least how to tell them convincingly. Practice makes perfect, after all. So, time and again, she finds herself playing storyteller. Mostly willingly.

_e i g h t - e x p a t i a t i o n_

The one who repents, who has faith,  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
She shall know true peace.  
_Transfigurations 10:1_

Mint.

Cullen didn’t know why it was still bothering him days later.  It was just one of those things that lingers at the tip of your tongue but you can’t quite remember.  He knew, somewhere, he had smelled mint recently - besides Hawke - and he couldn’t figure out where.  It was entirely inconsequential, but during lulls in his work, it came back.  Mint.

It wasn’t until the evening of the third day since Hawke’s departure that Cullen finally figured it out.  He was on his way to the war room when he overheard two of the servants talking as they left the kitchen at the end of their shift.

“I haven’t seen Serah Hawke in a few days,” the redheaded elven woman said to her blonde companion.  “I’m beginning to miss her stories.  Always a good way to start the day.”

“I miss the smell of her tea,” the blonde said.  “The mint reminds me of mother’s garden.”

“Always with your mother’s garden,” the redhead said with a chuckle.  “But I have to wonder why she brews enough for two cups.  Who’s she bringing it to?”

“A guess?  Ser Varric,” the blonde said matter-of-factly.  “Who else does she spend so much time with?”

Varric!  Cullen finally put it together.  The dwarf had joined everyone for breakfast one morning carrying a mug of mint tea, whose scent carried nearly all throughout the dining hall.  When asked about it, he laughed all questions away, saying something about waking up to find the steaming mug next to his bed.  So now Cullen found himself wondering why Varric would be evasive about the answer, and why Hawke had failed to mention it.

Though, as he entered the war room, greeting Alice, Josephine, and Leliana with a nod, he realized Varric enjoyed lying about everything he could get away with, and Hawke never gave away more information than necessary unless asked specifically about it.  He was overthinking.

That didn’t stop him from asking Hawke about it.

She was absent for four days before finally returning to Skyhold, and while Cullen heard little snippets about her from conversations he passed throughout the day, he didn’t actually see her until that evening.  He was at his desk, trying his hardest to focus on the reports in front of him, but failing entirely to read a single word because his mind kept wandering to Hawke.  When he finally decided that he had stared at the papers in front of him as much as he usefully could for one evening, he sat back in his chair to rub his eyes and was considering turning in early for the night.  He thought he heard the door open, but when he looked up, all three doors were closed and no one else was in the room.

“Just the wind,” he murmured, reaching out to shuffle the papers over to one side of the desk.

“Is that all I am now?”  He jumped and spun around to see Hawke standing behind his chair, smiling at him.  “Though I guess I can’t blame you; I actually have been training, trying to remain hidden in the shadows.  I know, I know, mages shouldn’t have to rely on stealth!  But I’ve been on the run, remember?  So it behooves me to know how to slip away and avoid notice.  Besides, it’s just so much fun to surprise people like this.  Hello, Commander.”

“H-hello, Hawke,” he greeted her, standing.  She seemed quite cheerful, and leaned up to give him a quick kiss.  “Er, how have you been?” he asked, as it seemed to be the only question occurring to him.

“Oh, y’know.  All right,” she said airily.  “I see the Inquisition is still standing, so that’s always good.  I would have hated to come back and find you all buried beneath piles of rubble.”  She chuckled as she leaned up to kiss him again.  “Please tell me you’re finished with your work for the night,” she murmured across his lips.

“Yes,” he managed before she kissed him again, “but,” he tried to continue between the quick, playful kisses, “I had,” kiss, “a question,” kiss, “for you.”

“Oh?” kiss, “because I,” kiss, “was thinking, instead,” kiss, “of talking,” kiss; and Hawke began to push him slightly towards the ladder, “we could do something,” kiss, “a little more,” kiss, “fun.”

Cullen leaned into her to give her nice, long, deep kiss, then pulled back, holding her shoulders so she couldn’t start up again.  “First,” he said firmly, “I have a question.”

“Oh, all right,” she conceded, rolling her eyes with a slight laugh.  “And what is your question, Cullen?”

He looked down at her.  She was just smiling back up at him.  “You make tea for yourself and Varric every morning you’re here,” he said.

“That’s not a question,” she pointed out.

Well, good to see her smart-assery was still in order.  Cullen resisted the urge to frown at her.  “The question is why, Hawke.”

“Because everyone likes tea?” she said with a shrug.

“And it’s just… tea?  For a friend?” he asked.

Suddenly, Hawke tilted her head to the side with a knowing kind of smirk.  “Oh my,” she said.  “You’re jealous!”

“What?”

“Jealous of Varric?” she continued.  “Goodness, jealous already!  I never really thought you were the jealous type, but here you are---”

“I’m not---” Cullen started, then realized his tone was too sharp, too defensive, to convey the truth of the matter that he was, in fact, not jealous; so he took a breath before trying again.  “I am not jealous, Hawke,” he said.  “Merely curious.  I’m not looking to get in the way of anything, so is there something going on between the two of you?”

“Varric and I?”  Hawke burst into a raucous fit of laughter, breaking away from Cullen to nearly double over.  “Andraste’s great flaming ass!  Something between Varric and I!” she barely managed between gasps of laughter.

“I’ll assume this reaction indicates a firm ‘no’, then,” Cullen muttered, raising an eyebrow as he frowned at her.

She was trying to catch her breath, leaning on his desk for support.  “Oh, Maker, Varric and I…” she breathed, grinning a little too widely.  “Sorry, sorry; I’m sorry,” she apologized when she saw the look on Cullen’s face.  “There is, in fact, plenty going on between Varric and I.”

The look of disapproval turned to surprise.  “ _What_?”

“However,” she continued, “nothing in the realm of what you’re thinking about.  We aren’t sleeping together, we aren’t romantically involved.  I just find it amusing that people seem to think we’re together like that.”

“So, then… what, exactly, is going on between you two?” he asked.

“Well,” Hawke began, leaning back against his desk and crossing her legs comfortably, “he’s my best friend.  We flirt.  I tell him just about everything.  He tells me enough to make me think he’s telling me everything.  And I make him tea in the morning,” she concluded.  “It’s been like this for… well, practically since we met.”

“Really?”

“Well… yeah,” Hawke said, hoisting herself up to sit on the edge of Cullen’s desk while they talked.  “Everything was easier back then, before the entire city fell apart.  I did my best not to think about how everything was slowly careening out of control, and that meant I spent a lot of time in places like… well, like the Hanged Man.  You can’t really blame me for just wanting to relax every now and then, can you?”

Cullen scoffed slightly, moving to lean against the wall near the window.  “‘Every now and then’?  From what I hear, it was more like ‘all the time’.”

Hawke smiled.  “You know… that might be a little closer to the truth.  No, honestly:  I was terrified of what was happening around me.  How could I not be? I was pulled into the middle of it all - often against my will - and I was powerless to stop any of it.  So, yes, I went out of my way to have some fun when I could.”

“Well, then I can see how you and Isabela ended up together,” Cullen mused under his breath.

“Oh my, yes,” Hawke agreed with a slight giggle.  “We both had distressingly similar views of the situation.  Y'know, looking back, that should have set off some red flags,” she reflected.

“So then… how---” Cullen hesitated, but continued when his curiosity demanded resolution; “Sorry, how did you and Anders…?”

“Ohh, Mr Fatalistic,” Hawke said, chuckling lightly.  “Right.  You’re wondering how I ended up with the man who was dead set on making the world out to be a tragic place, especially for people like me and him, when all I was concerned with was forgetting the troubles my kind faced?”

“Mages?”

“Mmhm, mages.”  Hawke sighed wistfully as she stared up at the ceiling.  “Y'know, Anders played the victim rather well, I thought,” she said with a very slight smile.  “We argued about his stance on certain things quite a bit, but it was just something about that… that hot-headed revolutionary attitude of his, I think.  Andraste’s tits,” she said, exasperated, “when he started talking about the plight of the mages, there was nothing you could do to shut him up.  Trust me; I tried everything.”

“Everything,” Cullen repeated.

“Everything,” Hawke confirmed.  Then giggled.  “Yes, even what you’re thinking about now.”

Cullen sighed.  “Maker’s breath, Hawke.”

“You started it!” she insisted playfully with a laugh.  “Look, I had a point here.”

“Did you?” he asked doubtfully.

“I did!  You asked me about… about…”

“About Varric,” Cullen reminded her.

“Varric!  Oh, you did ask about Varric.  …What was I talking about?  You distracted me.  You did that thing with your eyes, and distracted me.”

“…with my eyes?”

“When I laugh, you always give me this look, like you’re frustrated with me, but then you smile, so it’s okay.”

“Hawke, I rolled my eyes.”

“Yes, well.  It’s distracting when you get frustrated.  It makes me want to frustrate you more, just to see what you’ll do with it.  You know we won't be bothered for a while…”

“Hawke…”

She giggled, swinging her feet slightly.  “All right, all right.  Varric.  Right.  You want to know what’s going on between us.  I… did mention the part about how he’s my best friend, right?”

“You did, but.”  Cullen frowned, looking away.  “Hm.”

“‘But’...?” Hawke prompted, but then followed it up with a guess: “But we seem to be a little too friendly for that?”

“Well,” Cullen said sheepishly.  Yes, that’s exactly what he was going to say; but when she said it like that, it seemed to reinforce her earlier assertion that he was jealous.  He was almost entirely sure that he was not, in fact, jealous, and that this interest was borne from the curious circumstances surrounding the morning mint tea.

Hawke just smiled with a shrug.  “Well, like I said.  Everything was easier back then.  Tension was alleviated easier with flirting than with actual talking, I suppose.  After all, when have I ever taken anything seriously?”  Cullen rolled his eyes slightly and nodded; she chuckled.  “Let me tell you a story, then.”

_Varric and I got along swimmingly right from the start.  After all, he helped me join in on the expedition to the Deep Roads, and even though things didn’t… exactly turn out the way I would have liked, we came out of it, a little closer.  I mean, he had been there when I had to say goodbye to my brother, and they say tragedy brings people closer._

_When I moved into that nice little mansion, rumors and gossip started to fly.  A Fereldan refugee, in High Town!  Unheard of.  And yet Varric was doing nothing to stem the flow of such talk.  If anything, he was graciously helping it along, adding embellishments every time a tidbit crossed his hands.  I had always kind of assumed that’s what he was doing, anyway.  When I happened to overhear a rumor in the market that I had slept with four noblemen and two noblewomen to secure my position, however, I thought I ought to get to the root of it._

_“All right, Varric,” I said by way of greeting, barely pausing long enough to knock on my way into his quarters at the Hanged Man.  “What are you saying about me?”_

_He looked appropriately offended at the suggestion.  “About you?  Perish the thought.  Why would I have anything to say about you?”_

_“So, the rumor I just heard down at the bar on my way up here that I singlehandedly killed a whole horde of dragons and stole their treasure in order to buy back the Amell estate for my family?  That has nothing to do with you.”_

_He chuckled, shuffling some papers around on his desk as he turned his attention more fully to me.  “Last time I heard it, you had only killed a single dragon with the help of your friends.  Which did happen, actually, if I’m not mistaken.”_

_“It… did, but that’s not what they’re saying now,” I pressed.  “And I don’t believe you had nothing to do with those exaggerations.”_

_“This is what rumors do, Bubbles:  grow.  It starts out as ‘oh, this refugee killed a drake’, and then morphs into ‘I heard about how that woman killed a pack of drakes’, and eventually somehow turns into ‘Hawke managed to slay four high dragons at once’.”_

_I sighed, leaning against the wall as we talked.  “I don’t know entirely how I feel about that process.”_

_“Hey, enjoy it.  At best, you gain some fame,” he assured me with one of his smirks._

_“And at worst, they think I’m a slattern,” I said, making Varric raise his eyebrows.  “I wish dragon-slaying was the only thing I keep hearing about.  But somehow, word’s gone round about how I apparently seduced my way to High Town.”_

_“Huh,” he said with a shrug, which I found all-too-carefree for the situation.  “Haven’t heard that one, myself.”_

_“Varric.”_

_“I haven’t,” he insisted, holding his hands up.  “Honest, Bubbles, I’ve got nothing to do with that one.”_

_“Well, it started somewhere,” I continued._

_“Y’know, just a guess,” he said, “but it might be linked to you and Isabela getting very… comfortable.  When you associate with someone like her, with a known reputation…”_

_I rolled my eyes.  “We’re not exactly snogging in the street,” I said.  “Whatever has happened between us has happened behind closed doors.”_

_“People notice things,” Varric explained.  “Subtle things.  One night, you two were talking casually over drinks; but the next week, you two were standing next to each other at the bar, laughing over shots.  One day, you two were just chatting as you walked around the market; next week, you two were trading sidelong glances and smirks.”_

_“So, because I’ve become friendlier with Isabela, I must be a whore?” I asked, just to make sure I was understanding the connection._

_Varric chuckled.  “Unfortunately, that’s what the rumors do.  Can you blame them?  When beautiful women do things, people notice.”_

_In spite of myself, I smiled.  “Oh, beautiful women, hm?”_

_“Oh sure,” he agreed.  “You’d have to be blind not to notice the curves on Isabela.”_

_I chuckled, and straightened from the wall.  “She’s the only beautiful woman in this situation?” I asked teasingly as Varric moved to sit down at the table._

_“Well,” he said, just a hint of teasing at the edges, “you do have your assets.”_

_“Oh?” I prompted, opting instead to lean on the table next to him.  “And what would those assets be?”_

_He looked up at me with a smirk.  “You’re fishing.”_

_“I am,” I agreed._

_He laughed.  “All right; I’ll give you one for honesty.  It’s your eyes.”_

_“My eyes?” I repeated.  “How droll.  I could have told you I had nice eyes.”_

_“Your hair,” he continued, “might be another merit.”_

_“Well, of course,” I confirmed, flipping it over my shoulder for sarcastic emphasis.  “I do take good care of it.”_

_“That confident charm,” he said with a smirk, “is definitely one.”_

_“I always suspected I oozed charm.”_

_“And the curve your lips,” he concluded, sitting back in his chair._

_That caught me a little off-guard.  I had been expecting him to say my voice, or my humor, or my clearly irresistible smile.  But lips?  I looked over at him, and he was still smirking up at me.  “The curve of my lips?” I repeated.  “My my, but that’s specific.”_

_“You’ve looked in a mirror, haven’t you?” he asked lightly.  “You know as well as I do that your lips are nothing if not perfectly curved to give your smile that extra appeal.”_

_“I was unaware others thought so,” I responded as airily as I could.  He chuckled again.  “My eyes, hair, charm--- I’ll accept those as appeasement,” I continued, “but ‘the curve of my lips’ is a little too explicit for you to simply be humoring me, Varric.”_

_He watched me for a moment, then leaned forward slightly.  “It’s good to be prepared if I ever put you in one of my books,” he said, “so that I can make sure the readers know just how beautiful the heroine is.”_

_“You,” I said at some length, reaching up to run a hand along his jaw, “need to be careful with words like that, Ser Tethras, or you might just charm my pants right off.”_

_“I can certainly think of worse things,” he said nonchalantly with a smirk._

_I giggled.  “Maker’s breath, Varric,” I said, standing.  “Is it hot in here, or is it me?  Of course it’s me.  I need some air.”  I gave him a smile and wave as I left._

_On my way out, however, Isabela caught me and dragged me over to the bar to listen to_

“Wait,” Cullen cut her off suddenly.  “I’m sorry---”

“No no no!” Hawke said brightly, “You’ll want to hear this.  Corff was in the middle of regaling a slew of drunkards with a tale about a griffon that they all believed was true.”

“And I’m sure it was enthralling,” Cullen agreed quickly and rather dismissively, “but.  What just happened with Varric?”

“What do you mean?  I thought that was pretty clear.”

“You--- no, he was flirting with you, and you back at him, and.  And you just left?”

“Well, yes.”

“You turned down his advances?”

“They weren’t exactly advances.”

“Hawke.”  Cullen gave her a very pointed look.  “What you just described is the definition of ‘an advance’.”

“Was it?” she wondered aloud.  “No, it wasn’t,” she decided.  “No, because he wasn’t actually trying to bed me, see?  It was just playful banter.”

“He might as well have asked you to take your pants off.  And that’s playful banter?”

Hawke chuckled.  “For us, yes.  See what I mean?  It was easier to ignore certain situations - like those rumors - by cheerfully flirting it away rather than actually worrying about them. Eventually, those rumors went away, so in the end, it didn’t even matter.  But he and I have just been like that ever since, I suppose.”

“But you two never…”

“Of course not,” Hawke answered before Cullen finished his question.  “Nothing was ever going to come from it; we both knew that.  He has Bianca; I wasn’t trying to get in the way of that.”

“…His crossbow?” Cullen asked when his eyebrows lowered in consternation.

“Also yes,” Hawke said shortly.  “My point is, there was always room for playful flirting.  It was harmless fun.  When I became more seriously involved with Anders, the flirting did… perhaps, subside to an extent.  But… well.”  Hawke glanced away.

“Yes?” he prompted when her hesitation grew.

“Anders was… he….”  She sighed, and fell onto her back on his desk, stretching her arms out above her head to hang off the other side of his desk in a clear sign of agitated irritation.  “I can’t believe you’re getting me to talk about him again,” she mumbled.  “But fine, all right, so.  Anders.  I loved him dearly, but he was always much more concerned with the mages and the refugees and the Templars and, and everything else that wasn’t me.  He never neglected me, necessarily, but he didn’t always show me affection as often as I would have liked.”

“But Varric did.”

“Varric---”  Hawke started, but stopped.  She frowned a little, more to herself than to Cullen, as she brought her arms back to rest on her stomach.  “Varric did, yes,” she said finally.  “When Anders would disappear in the middle of the day because he needed to ‘take care of something’, I would always find myself back at the Hanged Man.  And more often than not, Varric was there, and of course we would talk, and laugh, and drink, and then talk some more, and the talking would become more teasing, and then flattering, and then…

“Look,” she said suddenly, sitting up, “the point is.  Nothing ever really came of it.”

“Nothing ‘ever really came of it’?” Cullen repeated, raising an eyebrow.  “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, Hawke.”

“He and I never wound up in bed together,” she said shortly.

“That…”  Cullen sighed, rubbing his temple.  “Hawke.”

“Look Cullen, sometimes…” she said, almost wistfully, looking down at her hands.  “Sometimes I just wanted someone near, so I didn’t feel like I was alone against the entire world.  Varric was always there for me, despite everything else he was juggling.  But Anders’ causes resulted in an uncomfortable space between us.”

They were silent for a moment.  Eventually, Cullen asked, very carefully,  “And… did Anders know about you two?”

“What was there to know?” Hawke said with a shrug.  “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened physically,” Cullen corrected.

She looked up at him.  “Isn’t that what matters?”

He met her gaze until her eyes fell.  “Is it?” he asked.

Hawke let out a prolonged kind of sigh.  “I think so,” she said.  “I also think that this evening is going very differently than what I had planned in my head.”  She glanced over at Cullen with a kind of pout.  “I’m gone for four days, and you greet me by delving further into my past.  Andraste’s tits, Commander, I haven’t talked about myself this much in years.”

“I think it’s good for you,” Cullen told her, straightening from the wall and walking over to her.  “We’re worried about you, Hawke.”

“Mm,” she hummed noncommittally, taking his hands when he stood in front of her.  “You shouldn’t be.”

“But we are.”  He kissed her forehead.  “At the very least, I’m glad you’re willing to open up to me.  Especially considering our history.”

Hawke laughed a little.  “Y’know, I never really disliked you, Cullen.  But you never seemed to like me, so.”

“I didn’t hate you,” he insisted, “but you were an apostate.  And you flouted that fact once you were named Champion and entirely out of our reach.  So you were a bit of a vexation.”

“Oh, I know,” she agreed with a smile.  “I made it a point to try to piss the Templars off at that point.  Because there really was nothing you could do.  Short of me using blood magic in the market, you would have never found justification to try to lock me in the Gallows.  So I had my fun annoying you when I could.”

“I knew it!” Cullen said with a chuckle.  “I was convinced you were messing with us.  The incident with those mabari and the red paint in the Templar hall?  That _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

Hawke tried to hide the impish grin that suddenly spread across her features, and failed entirely.  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, _Knight-Captain_.”

“Is that so?” Cullen asked, taking her hands and pinning them on either side of her hips on his desk.  “Because, _Champion_ , we have some eyewitness accounts that say otherwise.”

“Ohh, I wouldn’t trust any of those,” Hawke told him, leaning closer to let her lips just brush his.  “You won’t get me to talk that easily, Knight-Captain.”

Cullen smirked.  “Well then, I think we’ll just have to see what will get you to talk,” he said, leaning in and kissing her.


	9. parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke has an unwanted flashback.

_ n i n e - p a r a l l e l s _

Let the blade pass through the flesh,   
Let my blood touch the ground,   
Let my cries touch their hearts.  Let mine be the last sacrifice.   
_ Andraste 7:12 _

The night was quiet.  A breeze wove its way through the courtyard, played with the leaves on the bushes, agitated the flags and banners, and eventually wound its way around Hawke’s ankles.  She stood in the ramparts, staring out over the landscape with her back to Skyhold.  She was up on the low wall, one step away from plunging down the mountain.  Her eyes were closed and her chin tilted slightly up, as though she stood in defiance of the world around her.

And she did.  The rest of Skyhold, save for a small number of guards on the night rotation, was asleep.  But Hawke found it was another night when she would avoid putting her head to a pillow because of the dreams that had plagued her.  These were nothing new; even before she had left Kirkwall, the sheer stress of everything caused her to slip into nightmarish realms of the Fade at night, making her wake in the morning with an emotional fatigue that grew incrementally as the days passed.  More recently, this fatigue had all but consumed her, making her fear sleep more than any earthly fate.

So she stood, feeling the wind on her skin, becoming acutely aware of the clothing on her body, ignoring her mind screaming for sleep, and delaying the return to Cullen’s room.

He had fallen asleep about an hour ago, and Hawke debated whether or not to stay the night.  As comfortable as she was in his arms, she worried that she would fall asleep, have a nightmare, and be forced to explain herself upon waking both of them with agitated tossing and turning.  Thus the decision was made that she would simply slip out unnoticed and retire to her usual nighttime destination:  one of the other towers which was unused, where she would lay out her bedroll for the night and sleep in brief stretches of an hour or so.  When she had gotten up to leave, however, Cullen, asleep, had rolled over towards her and mumbled something that sounded rather like “don’t leave for long”.

It was just enough to make her presence feel wanted, so Hawke had opted to instead merely slip out for some air rather than to retire to her own makeshift bedroom.  She never was very good at turning down requests.

Finally, she opened her eyes to see the snowy mountains around her and the camps of pilgrims and refugees at their base.  “All things in this world are finite,” she recited under her breath.  “What one man gains, another has lost.”  She had never been one for the Chantry or its teachings, but Hawke had still managed to pick up bits and pieces of the Chant of Light wherever she went.  Transfigurations 1:5 had always been one to stick with her. 

Because she felt like she had lost a lot.  Too much, even.  Stripped of her home twice over, stripped of family, stripped of title, stripped of love….  Even though most of the material things meant very little to her, it stood that she had lost more in a decade than some do in their entire lives.  That verse gave her a very faint glimmer of hope that - because she had lost so much - someone else had gained equally.  Her pain must have a purpose, and if the world remains balanced, that meant someone else was as blissful as she was distressed.  And what a happiness they must possess.

Hawke turned and stepped down from the stone wall, looking briefly out at the courtyard.  It was quiet and still.  Too peaceful.  She wasn’t used to this peace and quiet.  Chaos had followed her since the day she left Lothering, and it had become a welcomed companion.  She wondered what would happen if she sent a fireball rocketing into the training ring right now.  What if she froze all the shrubbery for everyone to find in the morning?  While the thoughts entertained her, she didn’t act on them, and instead turned to go back to Cullen.

While she walked, she couldn’t help but think about what might happen if she had decided to disrupt the harmony of Skyhold.  She had always wondered about how things might be changed, as she lay awake at night.  This particularly applied to wondering about if she had acted or chosen differently in her past.  When forced to indenture herself and her brother for a year upon entering Kirkwall, what would have happened had she chosen to work for the mercenaries instead of for Athenril?  What if she hadn’t brought Carver with her during the Deep Roads Expedition?  What if she had given Isabela to the Arishok?  Even the smallest choices she had made - wine vs ale, cake vs pie, left vs right - made her wonder if the choices she made were the right ones.  Would she be living a different life if she had chosen to eat meat instead of fish during Aveline’s summer fete?  Would she even be at Skyhold right now if she hadn’t helped Hubert out with the Bone Pit?

But the thoughts were ultimately pointless.  Things had turned out in this way, and so thinking about alternate pasts and futures was a futile exercise.

She opened the door to Cullen’s quarters quietly.  She heard the rustling of the blankets as he adjusted himself above her.  She climbed the ladder, hitching up a smile just in case he was awake, but was met instead with agitated mumbles.

Hawke left her boots by the ladder, shed her cloak, and sat on the edge of the bed.  Cullen’s brow was deeply furrowed, and a cold sweat glistened on his forehead.  He was babbling incoherently under his breath and twitching in a troubled manner.  Hawke recognized the behaviors instantly:  nightmares.

“Shh,” she began, very gently, “it’s all right.”  Her voice was low and soft, just loud enough to reach his ears.  “I’m right here, Cullen; you’re safe.”  Slowly, she reached over and let her fingers just brush his cheek.  “It’s all right.”  This wasn’t the first time she had found someone tossing and turning in their sleep, plagued with terrible dreams.  With Anders, probably because of his more direct connection to the Fade, she had rarely been able to soothe his sleep.  But she was hoping that Cullen could be more easily pacified.

Little by little, his brow smoothed, and she let her hand rest more firmly on his cheek.  He mumbled something, much less upset, and turned into her hand.  He moaned, then his eyes fluttered open.  “Mmm, Hawke?” he managed, blinking away sleep and looking over at her.

“Bad dreams?” she asked, giving him a small smile.

“What?”  Cullen looked as though he was about to try to deny it, so Hawke continued.

“You were mumbling and fretting in your sleep,” she said.  “Nightmares?”

He sighed.  “Yes.  I suppose I’ve never truly been able to escape what happened at the Circle tower so many years ago.”

“I’m sure being off lyrium isn’t helping, either.  I overheard Cassandra and Alice talking about it,” she explained when he looked surprised.  “It can’t be easy.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hawke asked, sliding her hand down his cheek to rest on his chest.  “I bore you often enough with my troubles, after all.”

Cullen chuckled a little but shook his head.  “I am not bored by your troubles, Hawke.”

“Don’t lie,” she said with a smile.  “I know that, deep down, you can’t stand my constant ranting about how terrible my life’s been.  I know your life hasn’t been much better; it must be like listening to a child complain.”

He put his hand over hers, then looked up at her.  “Hawke, your pain is well-justified.  As is mine.  But right now,” he broke off to yawn, as if to illustrate his next point, “I think I would prefer to sleep than to dwell on the past.  Perhaps we can talk in the morning.”

“Fair enough.”  Hawke slid into bed next to him, and he pulled her closer.  Hiding her contented smile, she tilted her head up to plant a kiss on his cheek.  “Well, Commander, get some sleep.  You should be well-rested if the world ends tomorrow.”

“Oh, let’s hope not,” he murmured sleepily, kissing her head.  “I hate to think that it is, unfortunately, a very real possibility.”

“Don’t worry about it so much,” she insisted.  “If it does end tomorrow, then at least we’ll die in good company.  And if it doesn’t, then I’ll be more than happy to hear about your nightmares.  I know what that’s like, Cullen.  You’re not alone.”

She saw his lips tug up into a smile as his eyes closed.  “You are too good of a woman, Hawke,” he told her.  “If the world does end tomorrow, I’d sooner die than let you perish with it.”

His words made Hawke freeze.  Her mind ground to a halt, all except for a single memory.  Lake Calenhad, almost four months ago.  The night before she resigned herself to return to Kirkwall.  Alone.

_ “I love you.  You know that right?” _

_ Anders touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes.  His hand on my cheek is hesitant, as though he expects me to crumble to dust.  His lips had been gentle, too gentle, and his voice was uncertain.  I reach up to take his hand in mine. _

_ “Of course I know that, love,” I assure him with a smile.  I’m not really feeling a smile, but some things must be adopted for the occasion. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says softly. _

_ “What for?” I ask, moving back slightly to look at him.  He’s frowning, avoiding my eyes.  “Anders?” _

_ “Everything,” he says eventually.  “I know I’ve hurt you, and---” _

_ “Sh,” I stop him, reaching out to turn him back to face me.  “Anders, you don’t need to apologize.  I’ve told you, I know you had your reasons for what you’ve done.  We don’t need to discuss this again.” _

_ “And what if it happens again?” he presses, still refusing to look at me.  “What if I hurt you again?” _

_ “Are you planning on blowing up another Chantry?” I ask carefully with a small smirk. _

_ That gets him to look at me, though it’s with a glare.  “You know that’s not what I---” _

_ “I know what you meant,” I cut him off with a slight chuckle.  “I know you aren’t planning on hurting me again, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen, right? So if it does, we’ll just do what we did last time:  argue about it for a few weeks, then I’ll eventually forgive you.” _

_ He looks pained, so I sigh and lean forward to kiss him again.  “Listen,” I say gently.  “I love you.  Nothing you do will change that, for better or worse.” _

_ “You can’t possibly know that,” he insists. _

_ “No one ever does,” I agree.  “But what I do know is that you plunged the entirety of Thedas into chaos, and yet I’m still here with you.  So what else could you possibly do at this point?” _

_ When he frowns again, I laugh.  “That’s not a challenge, Anders.” _

_ That earns a very small smile, and I kiss him again.  “Stop worrying so much,” I tell him.  “All you need to know is that I would follow you to the end of the world, love.  I’m here for you, no matter what you need.” _

_ “What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?” he asks, reaching up to caress my face again.  “I would sooner die than let the world end with you still in it.” _

Hawke looked up at Cullen, but already, he was falling back asleep.  Her serenity had evaporated in a second.  There was no way he could have known one of the very last things she had heard from Anders - of course he didn’t know - but the parallel was too close for comfort.  She half expected to wake up in the morning alone.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Cullen murmured, barely loud enough for her to catch.

But she wouldn’t.  Cullen wasn’t just going to leave her.  He had the Inquisition’s soldiers to lead; he had far more to worry about than just her.  Even though she knew whatever they had wouldn’t last, she couldn’t help but feel like - just this once - maybe she deserved to enjoy it.  There would always be a barrier she kept up to stop anyone from getting too close, leaving a comforting space between herself and the rest of the world that kept her safe from another heartbreak.  But with Cullen, it seemed like it was a little easier to let that barrier falter.  Maybe it was because she knew that this - the affection and sex and talking and sympathy - was only going to last as long as she stayed with the Inquisition (which wouldn’t be forever; she had too many other things to do once the business with the Wardens was concluded).  Maybe it was because Cullen knew what she had been through, even seen most of it, back in Kirkwall.  Or maybe it was because Cullen was just as flawed and damaged as she was.

Whatever the case was, Hawke found satisfaction in knowing that there was someone who cared about her.  Multiple someones.  But since Varric wasn’t the one she was currently cuddling up to, she would settle with the former Templar captain with strong hands and gentle eyes, an intense sense of personal commitment, and an unhealthy level of concern for her.

She smiled very slightly and kissed his cheek again, whispering, “Goodnight, love.”


	10. revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke recalls a bittersweet memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know why Patrick Weekes says Cole was the hardest companion to write for in Inquisition, because my goodness is it difficult to nail down his personality and dialogue.  So… please forgive any vague out-of-character moments of his.  I did my best, but shit, he really is a challenge.
> 
> Also, regarding my feelings on writing about in-game events: (see a/n in chapter 7).  The whole “of course it’s blood magic because what else would it be” thing in the Western Approach?  I skipped over that.  That happened days ago, in the story.  It’s the future now.  But I couldn’t find a good way to work that in without it sounding like forced narration, so.  :T  All you get here is a brief mention that Adamant is the next step in the whole “why is Hawke still here” thing.  We all know what happened in the Approach; I’m here to tell you about what should have happened with Hawke.  c:
> 
> side note: Sorry for the long wait for the update! Shit happens, y'know? :T

 

_t e n - r e v e l a t i o n s_

And as the black clouds came upon them,  
They looked on what pride had wrought,  
And despaired.  
_Threnodies 7:10_

“She screams where no one can hear.  Pain, locked away, claws at its walls, seeping through cracks to poison the light.  Drowning in unspoken sorrow, falling into endless night.  Cracked, crumbling, crushed, but held together by threads of a humanity she’s forgotten.”

Alice looked down into the tavern below, leaning on the railing.  Hawke was acting out some kind of battle to a thoroughly entertained audience.  She swung her staff around, announcing that all evil should fall before her, and then was struck with an imaginary arrow.  With dramatics rarely seen outside of the stages in Orlais, she took three more hits, falling to her knees.  “Tell my brother,” she choked out, her staff clattering to the floor, “I always loved him... the least.”  Then, she collapsed with a final gasp of air, sprawling herself over as much distance as she could manage.  Her audience laughed and clapped and cheered, and after a moment, Hawke jumped to her feet with a blinding grin, bowing with just as much theatrics as she exhibited in the play battle.

“Really?” Alice asked in disbelief, looking back at Cole.  “That’s what you see when you look at her.”

“She has barricades to hide behind,” he said.  “If she ignores the hurt, if she keeps a space between her and it, it isn’t there.  But I can see it:  it’s deep, concealed, but strands of misery unravel and twist around the happy things until she can’t even remember how everything really was.”

Alice frowned, looking back at Hawke.  She had started in on another story - this one likely about a dragon from the way she held her arms out, miming flight - and seemed to have captured Bull’s attention, too.  He and the rest of the Chargers were watching with the others, calling out remarks about her portrayal of the winged beast.  “Can you help her?” Alice asked finally.

Cole was quiet for a moment, and Alice had to look up to make sure he was still there.  “I don’t know,” he said slowly.  “The others I help, they want help, even if they don’t know it yet.  But she has help, and she still hurts.”

“She has help?”

“Varric talks to her,” Cole explained.  “Varric helps her, but she has secret bruises that he can’t see.”

"Hmm.”  Hawke was apparently explaining, in excruciating detail, how it felt when the dragon had picked her up by the leg and tossed her back to the ground.  “If you can see those ‘secret bruises', why not tell Varric?  If he’s helping her already, maybe he can help her with those, too.”

“His eyes look at me like I’m broken,” Cole started, and Alice looked up at him.  She had come to recognize this as Cole getting a little deeper into someone’s head.  It hadn’t stopped being strange, but she had also always found it insanely interesting.  “He thinks I made a mistake, but it’s not my fault.  I loved him, I… _hated_ everything about him, but I loved him and he left.  Anders.”  Cole’s voice broke, and Alice straightened up to face him.  “Anders left without saying goodbye.  Just like Bethany, like Carver, like Mother.  Everyone could leave, and I’ll be left, and I--- I can’t---”

“Cole,” Alice interrupted.  His expression mirrored the pain that was apparently concealed deep below Hawke’s carefree exterior; but it was unlike him to actually _show_ what he was pulling from inside the other woman's memories.  Was Hawke really in that much pain?

He took a short breath.  “She’s afraid,” he began, voice steadier, “of being alone.  Anders promised her to stay by her side, but he left.  Anyone could leave.  That’s why she keeps the locket against her heart, to remind herself that even love can leave.”

“Locket?”

Cole looked up at Alice, his eyes once again the blank, emotionless pits of blue that was the norm.  “It’s another wound she doesn’t share.”

Well, that was a better lead than she had before.  Alice bid Cole goodbye and set off to find Varric.

Alice had been pleasantly surprised when she met Hawke.  The Champion - former Champion, if you listened to Hawke herself - was light-hearted and charming, but Alice had come to notice the slight tremor in her hands, the bags under her eyes, the lethargy in her step when she thought no one was watching.  Something was weighing down on Hawke, and though she was but one person in a keep full of war-weary soldiers and struggling refugees, Alice had felt compelled to help her regardless.  The few conversations she had had with Hawke were of the carefree and passing-time sort, but what Alice had heard from Varric lead her to believe that there was more under the surface of the otherwise whimsical mage.  Thus she had gone to the only person who could see what was hidden underneath.  Cole had told her what Alice had already suspected:  Hawke was hurting, and wouldn’t talk to anyone about it.

“Varric?”  As expected, Varric was in the main hall, rifling through some papers or maps or other such documents at his usual table.

“What can I do for you, your inquisitorialness?” he greeted her with barely a glance up.

“I wanted to talk to you about Hawke.”

“Popular topic these days, with her wandering around Skyhold,” he said with a chuckle.  “What about her?”

Alice wasn’t entirely sure how to begin.  “Well…”  Should she just launch right in about the locket?  Maybe lead up to it?  Ask him how Hawke was doing?  “I was talking to Cole, and he mentioned... something about her.”

Varric looked up, and Alice noticed the slightest of frowns curl his lips.  “Ahh.  I’m sure whatever he had to say about Hawke was…”

“Troubling,” Alice finished for him when he hesitated to put the word in her mouth.  “I knew she couldn’t be as carefree as she lets on, but.  Well, I knew she’d be at least a little troubled by the events in Kirkwall.”

“If only you knew the half of it.”  Varric shook his head with a humorless little chuckle.  “Look, she’s been handling herself all right.  If you’re worried about how she’ll operate at Adamant, or anything like that, I can assure you she’s done more with less.  She'll be fine.”

“I have no doubt,” Alice agreed.  “But I was actually more concerned with …er, with her, as a person.  Cole mentioned… he mentioned her locket.”

Varric responded exactly the same way she had.  “Locket?”

“Apparently she keeps it ‘against her heart’.  Something about how it’s a reminder that love could leave her?” Alice explained.

“Hmm.”  Varric glanced away in contemplation.  “I wonder…” he mused under his breath.  “No… can’t be.”

“Do… you know about it?” Alice prompted.

“She used to wear this locket, back in Kirkwall,” he said, rubbing his neck.  “Blondie gave it to her after… after they had a bit of a falling out.  But I didn’t think she’d hold onto it for so long.  That was… almost five years ago.”

“You should talk to her about it,” Alice suggested, glad that Varric seemed to already be on board with the suggestion before it was made.

“Yeah,” Varric murmured, turning back to his papers to hide the frown.  “I should.”

* * *

She was never much of a storyteller, but Hawke had picked up a few things from Varric over the years.  It helped that she had a few interesting tales to tell.  Plus, she never did get tired of an entertained audience.

After her reenactment of the battle at the Bone Pit, the people in the tavern seemed a little more cheerful as they went back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.  Iron Bull had complimented her on the battle, to which she had laughed and explained she always made it sound simpler than it really was.  “Still,” he had told her, “taking down a high dragon isn’t an easy task.”  So she accepted the praise, and said that she’d like to spar him at some point because, “It’s been a while since I had one of you horned bastards begging for mercy.”  Luckily, Bull laughed and told her that he’d be delighted to humor her sometime.

She left the tavern in slightly higher spirits, and decided that it was a good time to start bothering Cullen.  Even though she had assured him that she would do her best to stay out of his hair during the day when he had work to do or soldiers to train, it never stopped her from popping in and out of his office and distracting him terribly.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” she greeted him after ensuring he wasn’t in the middle of a meeting and no other soldiers or agents were currently in his office.  “You just missed a fabulous retelling of the time I took down that high dragon outside of Kirkwall.”

Cullen was considering a map spread out over his desk that had numerous notes scribbled around it.  “I’ve heard that one enough,” he told her, looking up with a smile.  “It spread to the Gallows quite quickly.”

“No one ever gets tired of hearing about my heroics,” she agreed, leaning over his desk to kiss him.  “So, before I try to pull you away from it, what are you in the middle of now?”

“Alice provided me a map of the Western Approach with notes on the various places she thought might be good for our troops to set up supply lines, or camps, or--- I don’t know, because,” he motioned to the map, “I can’t read her handwriting.”

Hawke looked over it as well, and laughed.  “Andraste’s tits, she must have skipped penmanship classes at the Ostwick circle.”

“Good thing all we need of hers on the official documents is a signature,” Cullen said with a sigh.  “So I’ve been attempting to decipher her chicken scratch to determine the usefulness of her information.”

“How dull,” Hawke said, leaning over the map to block his view of it.  “Why don’t I distract you for a bit?”

Cullen smiled and kissed her again.  “Unfortunately, I really can’t spare the time right now.  There’s a meeting in the war room in an hour, and---”

“Oh, pish tosh,” Hawke said dismissively.  “You won’t last an hour anyway.”

With a laugh, Cullen moved around his desk toward her.  “I might, if you weren’t so relentless in your teasing.”

“That’s the very point of it, Commander,” she said, reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders.  “I do so love it when you get fed up with me and grab me like you do.  It does good for you to let out that aggression.”  She leaned up to brush her lips against his.  “Let’s see how quickly I can get you to throw me against your desk, hm?”

“Unfortunately, Hawke---”

“Your work can’t wait for a few minutes?”

He laughed again, putting an arm around her.  “Now we’re down to a few minutes, are we?”

Hawke smiled and kissed him.  “I bet I could get it down to two.”

Before Cullen could tell her that her suggestion was absolutely ridiculous and that she should by no means attempt it - because he knew his opposition would just encourage her, and regardless of the results, he was sure he would enjoy whatever route she chose to get there - they heard the door open.  They both looked to see who it was, but Hawke didn’t take her arms from his shoulders.  “Oh.”  It was Varric, though he didn’t looked surprised.  “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Please,” Cullen said, turning Hawke away from him with clearly feigned annoyance.  “She has been a disturbance for long enough, I think.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Hawke pouted at him, earning a small chuckle.  “Well, fine.  If you need to talk to him,” she started, looking at Varric.

“Actually, I’m looking for you,” the dwarf told her.  “Alice said you were in the tavern, but I guess you finished up with storytime?”

Hawke giggled.  “I did.  You would have been proud.”

“I’m sure,” he agreed.  “But let’s let Curly get back to work.  I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, waving vaguely towards the door to motion him out first.  Before she left, however, she gave Cullen a quick little peck on the cheek.  “Have fun,” she told him cheerily.  Then she followed Varric out onto the bridge that joined the tower with the main building.

“So, what’s on?” she asked as they walked.  It was clear Varric had no specific destination, so Hawke steered them towards the edge of the bridge where she swung her legs over and sat on the wall to watch the lower courtyard.  Varric leaned against it next to her.

“You and Curly getting on well, then?” he asked.

“Nonsense,” she said with a sarcastically disdainful snort.  “He can’t stand me.  Keeps telling me he should have locked me in the Gallows when he had the chance.  The nerve of that man.”

Varric just chuckled.  “As long as you’re enjoying yourself, Bubbles.”

“Endlessly,” she said with a grin.  “But I’m sure you had more interesting things to ask about than my love life.”

“Actually,” Varric said with a little shrug.  “Though not about the Commander.  Are you still wearing that locket?”

Hawke avoided looking at her friend by instead looking up at the sky.  “Locket?”

“You are.”

She didn’t answer, swinging her feet a little and watching the clouds float in the endless sky above her.  “Does it matter?” she asked eventually.

With a sigh, Varric rubbed his head.  “It’s been five years.  You know that thing just reminds you about what happened.”

“It also reminds me of one of the few times Anders ever sincerely apologized to me,” she countered with a frown.  “So you’ll forgive me for choosing to keep the only proof I have that that man decided to swallow his damnable pride for once in his life.”

Her bitterness was palpable.  “Hawke.”

“It’s fine,” she said shortly.  “I know… I know it’s also a reminder of one of the worst moments in my life, but I’d prefer not to look at it that way.”

“Even so,” he tried tentatively, “it carries those memories whether you want it to or not.”

One of her hands slowly went to her chest.  Under her clothing, pressed against her left breast, she could just feel the metal locket.  “Alexandra,” she said quietly.  Varric gave her a questioning look.  “It was the only name he didn’t immediately disagree with.  Alexandra for a girl, but we never could agree on a boy’s name.”

“I still think Fenris was a good one,” Varric said, and Hawke smiled very slightly.  “I remember how Blondie fumed at the suggestion.”

“You weren’t there when I told him I liked ‘Isabela’ for a girl.  I don’t think I even finished saying the name before he blurted ‘no!’”  She let her hand fall into her lap, and looked back up at the sky.  “Five years.  I was almost a mother, Varric.  My mother would have been so happy, too.  Wherever she is, I just know she would have been thrilled.”

Varric watched her for a moment.  This was a conversation they had not had in five years.  The day Hawke had found out she was pregnant was one of the happiest of her life.  She had glowed with a blinding radiance, but had kept it a secret from all but Anders and himself, not wanting to “curse it”, since it was still early.  While he had never heard how she had broken the news to Anders himself, he realized very quickly that a child was the last thing the mage had wanted.  Varric would often overhear Hawke cheerfully suggesting names to him, but Anders’ exasperation on the matter was tangible, even from halfway across the Hanged Man.  And then, a month later, Hawke had walked into Varric’s suite at the tavern and collapsed into a chair, burying her head in her arms.  “Lost it,” she said bluntly.  “Could use a drink.  Or five.  You buying?”

She never had been one to talk about her problems, but the number of drinks she went through that night said enough.  In addition, the tension between her and Anders for the next few weeks was thick enough to choke on just by being in a twenty-foot radius of the couple.  The cause of that was something else that Hawke had never told him about, but Varric had stopped by the estate a few days later and heard from Bodahn that on the morning of the unfortunate loss, Hawke and Anders had been screaming at each other loud enough to warrant a call from the City Guard.

“He got me a book, y’know,” Hawke cut through Varric’s recollections.  “A book and the locket.”

“A book?” he asked when no elaboration came.

“Said he saw it in the market.  A book of baby names.”  She chuckled, looking down at her hands in her lap.  “Said that he was sorry for what he said, and that if I really wanted a child, we should probably agree on a name first.”

“And…”  This was more about the situation than Varric could ever remember hearing.  “What did he say, exactly, that he apologized for?”

Hawke looked over at him.  “He was right,” she said with an unexpected sort of strength in her voice.  “I didn’t see it at the time, but he was right.  Losing the child was the best thing that could have happened.  I mean, it was practically a week later when Orsino thought it would be a good idea to incite a riot at the Gallows.  And everything really just went downhill from there.  No way I could have raised a child in that.  He was right.”

“He told you it was _good_ , what happened?”  Varric was surprised, but maybe not as much as he should have been.

“He was right, though,” Hawke insisted.  “And I mean that.  Could you imagine worrying about a baby during that fight with Meredith?  ‘Sh sweetie, no it’s fine.  Don’t mind those statues or the insane Templar.  Shh, no, don’t cry.’”  She laughed a little.  “Sure, I might have threatened to kill him - a few times - for saying it back then, but looking back, he was, actually, right.  And how would I have ever explained to a kid what her - or his - father had done?  ‘Oh, the Chantry blowing up was a terrible tragedy that could have been avoided?  No, don’t be ridiculous; your dad had only the best intentions.’  I would have sounded mental.”

“You’re better off without him,” Varric said firmly.

“I’d like to believe it,” she agreed with a smile.  “But the locket’s staying right here.”  She patted her chest for emphasis.  “Can you remember any other time he admitted he was wrong?”

“Fair enough.”

Hawke smiled, and ruffled Varric’s hair.  “Enough talk, love.  Between you and Cullen, my days are becoming one big flashback.  Let’s go see if Dorian’s up for another round of Wicked Grace.  He claims he finally figured out my tells.”

Varric followed her as she nearly skipped to where they found Dorian sitting in the window and reading.  She joyously goaded him into another round of cards, and laughed when he insisted he’d win this time.  With an internal smirk, Varric realized Hawke fooled the world around her every day; there was no way she’d lose at something as simple as a card game.


	11. companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke makes friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters at once, since I forgot to update for so long!
> 
> Consider this chapter a bit of an intermission before the final few chapters, because it's more a collection of scenes rather than anything coherent and/or linear. Even though all of this is in a single chapter, each scene could have happened basically any time since Hawke first arrives at Skyhold. I didn’t want the whole story to be depressing and sad, so I wanted to take this chance to show Hawke having fun and making friends. Because she does kind of have a knack for it. How else do you explain her pal-ing around with people like Merrill right next to people like Anders? Or Aveline and Isabela? Face it: Hawke is some kind of supernatural force where everyone is just drawn to her against their will. She’s like a magnet for literally every kind of person. And I love that about her.

_ e l e v e n - c o m p a n i o n s _

As the moth sees the light and goes toward flame,   
She should see fire and go towards the Light.   
_ Transfigurations 10:1 _

“You aren’t quite what I expected.”  No fewer than six people had said this to Hawke since her arrival at Skyhold, and she laughed every time she heard it.  She never knew what people were expecting, but apparently a light-hearted, sarcastic mage with little to no regard for societal standards was not it.  Alice had said that she expected someone a little more somber; Hawke had said something to the extent of, “After you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you stop taking Life seriously anymore.”  Varric told her that everyone probably expected some great and powerful mage who preached about changing the future; when she was finished laughing, Hawke told him that, “If I could change the future, love, I would be on a beach somewhere right now with a drink in one hand and at least six ridiculously attractive men and women attending to my every whim.”

But the point stood:  whatever anyone had heard about Champion Hawke had distorted her into little more than a character of myth.  So she took joy in proving to anyone who cared to give her the chance that she was - regardless of how the stories depicted her - decidedly human.

* * *

* * *

“All right,” she told Sera as she finished tying an unnecessarily elaborate bow with the ribbon wrapped around the box on the table between them.  “I managed to successfully pull this one on Aveline four times.”

“Four times?” Sera burst out in laughing surprise.  “Andraste's arse, she didn’t learn after the second?  Or  _ third _ ?”

“Which made it all the funnier,” Hawke said with a wide grin.  “A week after the first one, I gave her the second ‘gift’ as an apology, and she looked at me like she’d be stupid to open it after the last one.  So I told her that it would just be crazy to try to pull the same trick on her twice, which - of course - is exactly what I did.”

“And it worked twice more, still?” Sera pressed eagerly.

“Same story both the third and fourth times,” Hawke confirmed.  “Just told her, ‘Aveline, really?  You really think I’d pull that again?  I’m hurt that you think I’d be that stupid.’”

Sera laughed again, slapping the table.  “You’re something else, Hawke; can’t believe you’ve done half the stuff you say.”

“That, and more,” Hawke confirmed, pushing the box across the table.  “Remind me to tell you about the time I convinced Lady Abelton her garden was haunted.”

“Oh, yes please,” Sera agreed, standing and snatching the box from the table.  “Should deliver this before the ice melts, though.  Thanks.”  She smiled, but before she left, she turned and said, with a crooked sort of smirk, “You’re not quite what I was expecting, Champion.  Varric got it all wrong in his dumb book.”

Hawke chuckled.  “That’s what I keep telling him, Sera, trust me.”

 

“All right, let’s hear it then!”  Sera plopped down on the wall next to her.  Hawke didn’t seem all too surprised, and just glanced at her new companion with a smile.  “The Lady Whosit’s haunted garden.”

“Ah, right,” Hawke said.  “First,” she said instead, closing the book she was reading, “how’d Cassandra like the present?”

Sera giggled in a not entirely non-nefarious manner.  “She spent the afternoon looking for me.  Made her waste her precious training time.”

“Perfect,” Hawke said with a smile.  “All I ever see her do is beat on those dummies.  Or recruits.  She’ll appreciate the unplanned break, I’m sure.”

“Right?” Sera agreed, swinging her legs.  “Can’t wait to pull it again next week.  But tell me about Lady Appletown.”

“Abelton---” Hawke correct with a slight chuckle.

"Whatever," Sera interjected in little more than a mumble.

“---but," Hawke continued, "I like Appletown better, admittedly, so let’s stick with that.  She was an old thing, lived next door to me, and didn’t care for much except her garden.  I used to see her out there all the time, fretting over the flowers, or making sure everything was at just the right angle to see the sun.  So one day, I decided she needed some excitement.  Wasn’t easy, though; Appletown didn’t like me much already, so it was hard to talk to her.

“She did, however, have a handful of servants that tended to the garden, and they were much easier to approach than the Lady herself.”

“Really?” Sera interjected.  “Weren't you some noble twat back then? You did dealings with gardeners?”

“Hopefully not so much of the 'twat' part, but technically noble, yes. And of course I did,” Hawke said.  “You Red Jennies know what you’re doing; figured I should take a page out of your book.”

“Hey, good on you, Champion; didn’t think you were the type.”

“No one ever does,” she said with a smile.  “So, I manage to find one of her servants in the market, and ask him how he felt about causing a little mischief in his mistress’ precious garden.  No real vandalism, just some fun.  He agrees.  Appletown knows her garden inside and out, down to the exact angle of rotation of the statues and number of petals on the flowers, so I explain the plan:  for the first week, every day before she wakes up, he - and probably some others - needed to move or rotate each furnishing just enough to be noticeable, but not so much that it was immediately obvious.  Then, during the second week - when she’s probably noticed something seems off - each morning, change the placement of potted plants; so instead of having a row that’s rose, violet, fern, fern, violet, rose, make it fern, rose, violet, violet, rose, fern.”

Sera giggled.  “Bet that drove her mad.”

“Of course it did, because the servants happily played along.  I would hear them arguing with her from my balcony every morning.  ‘No, Mistress, I swear to the Maker, I never touched those pots; I’m just as surprised as you are!’  She was just frail enough to believe them, but not so much to ignore the issue.  It gets better.”

“Better!” Sera exclaimed.  “Oh, yes, let’s hear it.  Did you have them paint the flowers different colors?”

“Y’know,” Hawke said, looking at Sera, “that’s actually better.  I wish I’d known you back then.  No, I wanted to use the third week to make her think that the spirit of a dead gardener was haunting her.  So I procured some props - spades, pages from gardening books, things like that - and made them look older.  Then had my new servant friend bury them in the freshly tilled soil.  Maker’s ass, when she found those, she completely lost it.  Ranted and raved for days, calling the City Guard in case it was actually vandalism, the Templars in case it was magic--- but they all found nothing. No magic, no clear signs of vandalism, nothing. So she was left with only the conclusion that it must be a spirit of someone who's passed on.”

“You really did it!” Sera said with a laugh.  “You made her think there was a ghost?”

“Of course I did,” Hawke assured her.  “I don’t do anything half-assed.  And I know she believed it, because I wanted to do one last thing before moving on to my next project.  I needed to see for myself how she was handling it, and not from my window.

“So, one morning, when I saw her leaving her estate, I hurried to leave mine as well.  ‘Oh, Lady Abelton,’ I greeted her cheerfully; she nearly jumped out of her skin, too,” Hawke said with a chuckle.  “Poor thing was skittish as anything.  ‘Lady Abelton,’ I said, ‘I couldn’t help but hear that you’ve been having some trouble with your garden lately.’  Even though I knew she didn’t think much of me, she was pretty desperate.  ‘Oh, Mesere Hawke,’ she whined, ‘oh, there’s a ghost in my garden.  Please, you’ve done so much good for this city, and you’re just such a wonderful woman, please won’t you help me?’”

“Just like that?” Sera asked teasingly.  “All that praise heaped in and everything?”

“Oh, of course,” Hawke said very seriously.  “I received praise everywhere I went, didn’t you know?”

“I’m sure you received something everywhere you went,” Sera muttered with a smirk.

“Anyway, I told her that I’d be happy to take a look,” Hawke continued.  “And I made a show of it, too, poking around in the petunias and examining the lemongrass.  Finally, I told her that I would need to consult a friend, and would return the next day.”

“Ooh, who’d you consult, then?” Sera asked excitedly.

“I had done my research, right?” Hawke said, unable to stop from smiling.  “I already knew exactly what I was going to tell her to do, but I wanted it to seem more official.  So I dragged Anders into it, because he was always better at pretending to be serious than I was.  I told him exactly what he needed to say, and the next day, we went back to Appletown’s garden, and he looked around, and made a show of ‘reading the garden’s aura’.  Then - and I have no idea how he managed to keep a straight face, but he did - he told her that in order to be rid of the spirit, she would need to bring in a  _ Helicodiceros muscivorus _ .”

“A  _ what _ ?” Sera interrupted, but gleefully, knowing it had to be good.

“It’s this big, fleshy flower that blooms on sunny days, massive, difficult to care for in Kirkwall's climate--- but the important bit is, it’s commonly called the ‘dead horse arum lily’.”

“Maker’s tits!”  Sera burst out into a noisy fit of laughter.  “You got her to plant a shite-smelling flower in her garden!”

“I did,” Hawke agreed proudly.  “She had made a fuss over it, insisting that Anders must have been mistaken about what the spirit wanted, but he assured her that all the spirit wanted was to see the lily bloom, just once, and then it could be at peace.  So she did.  A week later, there was this big pot in the middle of her precious garden, with this bud that blossomed a few days later into an absolutely gorgeous bloom.  But, the servants told me, it absolutely smelled like death.  They were far too happy to care, though, because for an entire month, Lady Appletown had been too distracted by the supposed ghost in her garden to worry about things like little bits of gold missing from her vault or sacks of potatoes and flour from the kitchen.”

“Hey, no way,” Sera said incredulously, punching Hawke’s arm lightly.  “That was you!  I knew Appletown sounded familiar.  I’d heard something about some Friends out that way being able to raid a noblewoman’s coffers because she’d been distracted by an imaginary demon or something.  Never knew you were involved, though.”

“What, really?” Hawke asked.  “I had no idea.  I was just trying to make my mornings a little more interesting,” she insisted.  “So you’re telling me that my prank helped the Red Jennies in Kirkwall?”

“Sounds like it,” Sera said with a smile.  “So thanks, Hawke.  On behalf of the Red Jennies, I owe you a drink.”

* * *

“You’re a very curious woman, you know that?”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“I am, but that makes the statement no less factual.”

“Factual?  And what about me is so curious, exactly?”

“Well.  You’re not quite what I expected.”

Hawke laughed, pushing a pawn forward on the board in front of her.  “Check.  And what were you expecting, exactly?” she asked Dorian, sitting back in her chair.  “I’m just a Fereldan-turned-Marcher; certainly nothing like you pompous Vints.  Were you expecting some magister wanna-be?”

Dorian chuckled.  “No, I was not expecting that.  But I’ve heard stories about you.  Escaping the Blight?  Rising from nothing?  Killing the Arishok?  And let’s talk about that--- defeating him in one-on-one combat, was it?”

“Duels are easy; you’ve only got the single opponent to focus on.  It’s when you have arrows and blades from all directions that the challenge appears, nevermind the skill of your enemies.  It’s your move.”

“And I absolutely agree,” Dorian said, glancing at the board.  “But regardless, it makes your story almost heroic.  The dashing hero defeating the power-mad villain all on her own?”

“Dashing, am I?” Hawke asked with a smirk.

“Or beautiful; have it your way,” Dorian corrected, moving a castle to take her pawn.

“I do prefer ‘beautiful’, thank you,” she said, considering the board.  “I don’t suppose you heard anything about what happened up north once news of the Arishok’s death reached the rest of the Qunari?”

“Oh, I certainly don’t know,” Dorian brushed the matter aside.  “I’m sure they immediately sent someone to clean up the mess, and then aggressively ignored the disgrace.”

“That does sound like them,” Hawke agreed.  “All I know is that they finally cleared the wreckage of their dreadnaught and issued an entirely unsatisfactory apology.”  She moved her queen away from his knight.  “You still haven’t told me what you were, indeed, expecting of me, then.”

“Well, you seem far too… comfortable,” Dorian said, to which Hawke raised an eyebrow.  “Do you not think about how you, personally, have shaped history?” he continued.  “Kirkwall alone will always have the name Hawke etched into their collective memory for centuries to come, nevermind the Qunari, Fereldens, and whoever else you’ve met along the way.”

“Your move, sweetheart.”

“Does it not bother you to know that the world will always look at your arrivals and departures - and, of course, participation - as events of rather severe gravity?”  Dorian moved a pawn forward with barely a glance at the board.  “So, to answer your question, I was expecting a woman who had forgotten how to laugh.”

Hawke looked up at Dorian with the slightest of patient smiles.  “You think that - because of my unwilling place in history - I should have forgotten how to have fun.”

“Simply put, yes,” Dorian agreed.

She took his pawn with her own.  “Check.  You’re probably right,” she said.  “But I’ve always believed that the only goal in life should be to achieve happiness.  No matter where you go, no matter what you do, if you aren’t happy, you are simply failing at life.  Why else should we be put upon this earth?  If the Maker does indeed exist, the Chant of Light says He put us in this world and gave us an unending desire for satisfaction--- or, in other words, happiness.  And if He doesn’t exist, then this world and the small space between birth and death we each call life, is truly all we have, and we should therefore enjoy it as much as possible.  Either way, if I should forget how to laugh, then there should be no reason to continue living.  I am distracting you, I know, but it’s still your move.”

Dorian smiled at her and took her pawn with his queen.  “There’s a wisdom in your words that goes beyond your years, Hawke.”

“Is there?”  She moved her queen forward.  “Because I was just talking to keep your attention elsewhere.  Checkmate.”

He laughed.  “You devious minx.  I was wondering what you were doing with your queen earlier.”

“I learned a few things from Varric,” Hawke said, “not the least of which is how to talk my way out of situations.  You almost had me with those pawns, actually.  That’s when I decided to bring up Tevinter.”

“Ah, I was wondering why the sudden change in conversation.”  Dorian looked over the board.  “Color me impressed, Champion.  You know what you’re doing after all.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said with a light shrug.  “I mostly just make it up as I go.  It’s always more fun when you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Don’t let historians hear you say that!” Dorian said with a laugh.  “To think, the legendary Hawke had no idea what she was doing throughout life, had no master plan.  They’d call you a fraud.”

“A fraud?”  Hawke giggled.  “All right, how about this then:  I’ve always heard that ‘the journey is more important than the destination’, but I thought that aphorism was oversimplifying.  The destination is always important to keep in mind, but it’s the journey where the memories are made,” she said with a smile.  “And if that little adage didn’t trick them into thinking I was the messiah they were expecting, I don’t know what would.  New game?" she asked, beginning to reset the board anyway.

"Of course. You won't distract me this time."

"We'll see. Have I told you about the time I killed a high dragon?"

"Nice try."

"Oh, but you want to hear this. I was just on my way to check in on the Bone Pit, when out of nowhere..."

* * *

Cassandra had been training all day.  Like every day prior.  She didn’t like the downtime between excursions with the Inquisitor; it made her anxious.  She always felt like there was something more to be doing.

Hawke would watch her sometimes as the Seeker hacked away at the training dummies or sparred with the soldiers.  Unlike Cassandra, Hawke was perfectly content with the downtime.  She had found so little of it in recent years.  Even the moments while traveling with Anders when there was little else to do besides enjoy the evening, Hawke found herself grow increasingly antsy as the silent, calm minutes drew longer.  Though there had been truly nothing to do during those moments, she would invariably find something to do to busy her hands and mind. 

So watching Cassandra work out her anxiety on whatever her target of the day happened to be had become almost therapeutic for Hawke.  Regardless of her contentment, however, Hawke also found herself very curious about the kind of woman the Seeker was, beyond the obvious conclusion of “singlemindedly driven”.

“So tell me, Seeker,” she greeted Cassandra one afternoon, making the woman jump with surprise.  “Does a warrior of your caliber truly gain anything from fighting an unmoving target?”

Cassandra swung around to see Hawke leaning against the nearby stairway that led to the ramparts above; the Champion was smiling easily, mindlessly folding a bit of paper in her hands that she glanced at here and there.  “Oh, Champion.”

“Hawke is fine,” she said.  “It’s what everyone else calls me, anyway.”

“All right, …Hawke.”  Cassandra watched the other woman carefully, as if expecting the conversation to reveal some kind of trick.  “You are referring to the training dummies.”

“I am,” she agreed.  “Surely you would gain more by fighting someone who might fight back?”

“When striving to perfect a particular maneuver, a stationary foe provides simply a target to focus on,” Cassandra explained, if a bit curtly.  “If I aimed to see how the moves worked in practice, then I would be sparring with another swordsman.”

“Ah, that does make sense,” Hawke agreed, glancing down to the paper in her hands as she worked out a tricky fold.  “You do seem to be one for perfection, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Was there something I could help you with?” Cassandra asked.

“You’re a Pentaghast, right?” Hawke said, looking up with a slight grin.  “Dragon hunters of Nevarra?  A noble line, as well.  You’re probably, what, fifty-somethingth in line for the throne?”

“Seventy-eighth,” Cassandra corrected sharply.

Hawke chuckled.  “I see.  You know, you don’t need to be quite so hostile towards me.  I’m going to assume that it has something to do with your animosity towards Varric?”

Cassandra heaved a sigh that seemed more of a huff.  “Perhaps.  Your presence here betrays his loyalties, making him a tenuous ally of the Inquisition’s, at best.”

“Eloquently put,” Hawke said with a nod, looking back down at her little project, which was starting to take form.  “But Varric is nothing if not loyal to his friends.  And he does have friends in the Inquisition, Seeker; I wouldn’t worry so much about him when you have much bigger enemies to focus on.  Let me ask you a question, then.”

“A question?” Cassandra asked, sounding a little surprised.

“When you interrogated Varric back in Kirkwall, before this mess, what exactly were you hoping to find out about me?”  She looked up at Cassandra with raised eyebrows and a patient but curious smile.

“The truth,” she responded simply.  “What happened at the Gallows sparked war in nearly every corner of Thedas.  You had no small part in the event, and I set to find out whatever I could that might help put an end to it.”

“You mean, you wanted to find  _ me _ , so I could put an end to it?”

“I---”  Cassandra began to deny it, but Hawke’s knowing smirk told her that Varric had already revealed the truth to his friend.  “Yes,” she said instead.  “The people trusted you, even if - at the time - I couldn’t see why, and we thought that might be useful should the Inquisition become a reality.”

“I see.”  Hawke shrugged a little in a noncommittal sort of manner.  “I’m not much of a leader, honestly; probably for the best you found Trevelyan.  But I must say, I’ve been incredibly curious about your purpose ever since you surprised us by snatching Varric right from the streets of Lowton that evening.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “What?”

Hawke continued, focusing on the nearly-completed figure in her hands, and missed the other woman’s astonishment.  “I figured he was just delayed by bandits that night; imagine my surprise when he comes back to the Hanged Man and tells me that he was actually forced to tell my story to a demanding Seeker.”

“ _ What _ ?” Cassandra repeated.

The piercing tone of voice caught Hawke’s attention, and she looked up with a suddenly guilty grin.  “Oops.”

“He said he didn’t know where you were!” Cassandra burst out, taking a step towards Hawke, brandishing her finger threateningly as though it was more dangerous than the sword at her side.

“Well,” Hawke began with an uneasy chuckle, “technically he didn’t.  I could have been at the Hawke estate, or in the Hanged Man, or even in Darktown---”

“He said he didn’t know how to contact you!” Cassandra snapped, eyes narrowing to sharp slits of anger.

“Technically---”

“He lied!”

Hawke just shrugged.  “He does do that, y’know.”

Cassandra threw her hand aside with a disgusted noise, turning on her heel.  “That little--- I knew he wasn’t to be trusted, I  _ knew _ \---”

Hawke appeared unexpectedly at her side and held up the paper in her hands to quell the stream of curses and rage.  She had folded it into the shape of stylized sunburst, not unlike the Chantry’s symbol.  Cassandra looked taken aback.  “Let’s pretend, for a moment,” Hawke began, handing her the little sunburst, “that, years ago, some men or women showed up and dragged you to a dark room and demanded to know where Justinia was.”

Cassandra looked down that the paper figure in her hands, then back up at Hawke, who was aimlessly meandering around her while glancing out towards the main courtyard.  Hawke looked rather unconcerned with the information she had just revealed, and it was that that made Cassandra listen.

“And you had sworn to Justinia,” Hawke continued, “that you would protect her secret location, no matter who demanded it of you.  These people questioning you were armed and angry.  Would you tell them?”

“I---”  Cassandra frowned.  Considering hypothetical situations had never been much of a strong point of hers.  “I don’t--- that’s hardly--- Are you comparing yourself to Most Holy?”

“Certainly not,” Hawke said quickly.  “But it is the only situation I think that you might be able to relate to.  So, would you tell your interrogators where she was hidden?”

Of course she wouldn’t.  Cassandra looked down at the sunburst in her hands.  She knew the point Hawke was trying to make, but that made her surge of anger towards Varric no less real.  “Regardless, Varric should have---”

“And why wouldn’t you tell them?” Hawke cut her off, but with a smile.  “Because…?”

Clearly, however, Hawke was not going to drop the topic until she had made her point.  Cassandra sighed.  “Because I trust her.”

Hawke chuckled lightly.  “We all do silly things for our friends, Seeker.  Varric was willing to lie to his kidnappers and forceful interrogators just to protect someone he cared about.  Is that not the sort of person you want on your side in this conflict?”

She was right, but Cassandra was finding it difficult to let this slide.  Varric not only knew how to contact Hawke, but he was hiding her  _ in Kirkwall _ .  Cassandra and Leliana had been so close without knowing it.  If only Varric could have understood the gravity of the situation, if only he knew what would have happened because she, Cassandra, had been unable to locate the Champion.

But what Varric had said a few days prior when she had confronted him about this very topic came back to her:   _ “If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead too.” _

The same thoughts repeatedly came back to her:  if only things had gone differently, if only she had had more time, if only they had searched harder, if only, if only.  But the reality was simply that things had happened this way.  She and Leliana had been unable to locate the Hero or the Champion, and instead had found the Herald.

“Hawke.”  Cassandra looked up to see Hawke standing in front of her with a placid smile.  “I’m… sorry.  You’re… you are right.  Varric may not always be the most honest among us, but he has done nothing to deserve constant suspicion.”

“Oh, now, I wouldn’t say that,” Hawke said.  “Everything he says does need to be taken with a grain of salt or two.  I don’t blame you for assuming the worst until proven differently.  Might make you a bit of a pessimist, but hey, if everyone is busy looking up and trying to find the bright side, they’ll miss the dagger coming for their backs.”

Cassandra considered the words for a moment, then looked down at the paper figure in her hands once again.  “If I might be honest for a moment,” she said slowly, “you… aren’t quite what I expected.”

Hawke chuckled with a teasingly melodramatic bow.  “And you’re welcome for that, Seeker.  I apologize for the interruption of your training,” she continued as she straightened and started towards the stairs.  “But I just had to know a bit more about the woman who stole Varric away from me.”

“You’re welcome to take him back,” Cassandra muttered under her breath.

Already halfway up to the battlements with a giggle, Hawke called back, “Don’t tempt me.”

* * *

“Bull.”

“Hawke.”

“Spar later?”

“Sure thing.”

“No shield.”

“Yeah?  No staff, then.”

Hawke laughed, plopping down on the barstool next to the Qunari and waving vaguely towards the bartender for an ale.  “That’s hardly fair.  I need my staff to properly direct my spells.”

“And I need the shield to properly angle your spells back at you,” Bull retaliated with a smirk.  “Yours are a little more focused than what I’m used to.”

“Even against the Vints?” Hawke asked curiously, leaning forward with earnest interest.  “Sure, I mean, Father drilled it into me that if I had any intention of casting a spell, I’d damn well better make sure that it hit only my intended target.  But up in the Imperium, they’re all about superior mages and magic and I don’t even know because I find it all tediously dull.  No way I’m any better than the average Vint.”

Bull shrugged lazily as she received her mug.  “Sure, there were some that had me fumbling on the defense, but on average, I’m actually pretty impressed how you compare against them.”

“Aw, I’m flattered,” Hawke said with a smile as she lifted her drink to take a sip.  “I’ll have to be sure not to oppress any of you non-mages or openly practice and then subsequently deny practicing blood magic, lest your opinion change.”

Bull chuckled.  “Just keep that sense of humor, Hawke.  It’s what separates you from them, and it’s exactly the sort of thing we need in times like these.”

“Sense of humor, hm?” Hawke mused, staring into her mug.  “Oh, oh!  All right, what’s the difference between a Qunari and a wyvern?”

Bull gave her a steady look.  “I’ll bite.”

“One’s a huge mass of sinewy muscle that will tear your head off without provocation, and the other has four legs.”  Hawke beamed childishly at him.

“Cute,” Bull chuckled, making Hawke giggle.  “Jokes, then?  How about this one:  why do the basra walk on two legs?”

Hawke’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side while she considered it.  “Hmmm.  All right, why?”

“Because otherwise they’d be mistaken for qalaba.”

It took a moment for the Qunlat vocabulary to resolve itself into recognizable ideas, but then Hawke laughed.  “I get it!  Because we’re stupid.  That’s a good one.  I’m going to have to use that sometime.  I never figured you brutes understood humor, let alone had jokes.”

Bull shrugged, draining his drink.  “I actually picked that one up in Orlais.  Some noble’s idea of a self-depreciating joke after dealing with some Qunari, I think.  But I liked it.”

“Ohh, it is a good one,” Hawke agreed.  “All right, did you hear about the Nevarran noble that hosted an exceedingly terrible hunt?”

“Hm,” Bull grunted with a smirk playing at the edges of his expression.  “No?”

“He had fire spat at him and was eaten alive--- and then the dragon showed up.”  Hawke grinned another of her juvenile grins, and Bull chuckled appreciatively.

“Of course; should have seen that one coming.  You have a joke for every occasion?”

“It pays to be prepared!” Hawke quipped cheerily.  “And I do so love those terrible little jokes.  People laugh more because of the absurdity or stupidity, rather than any actual comedic content.”

“I can see that,” Bull said.  He considered Hawke for a long moment while she got through a bit more of her drink.  “Let me ask you something, Hawke:  were you always like this?”

“Like what?” she asked, twisting in her stool to better face her drinking companion.  “This beautiful?  This charming?  This witty?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bull waved it all aside with a snort of laughter.  “I meant, were you always… hmm.”  He realized he couldn’t actually phrase the question in a single adjective.  “Did you always have this fondness for bad jokes?”

“Eh.”  She waggled her shoulders a bit.  “I’ve always been a sucker for puns, and I could never help but pick up bad jokes.”

“Sure, but--- Look, it’s no secret what you’ve been through.  Were you like…  _ this _ ," he gestured casually at her for effect, "during all that?”

Hawke laughed, which Bull thought was an odd reaction to the question.  “Of course!  You basically said it yourself:  if there’s ever a time when shitty humor is important, it’s when the world is falling apart.  If I can make even one person laugh in an apocalypse, I’ve done my job.  If everyone gets so focused on the depressing fate of everything, and they forget to laugh and smile, they forget what they’re fighting for.  So if I can ask  _ you _ a question:  why do you ask?”

“Well.”  Bull shrugged.  “You aren’t quite what I expected.”

Hawke laughed again, slapping the bar.  “Of course not!” she agreed through the laughter.  She seemed to be endlessly entertained with this statement.  “Because I’m not what anyone expects.  And that’s the beauty of being me.”  She drained her drink and stood.  “If you were expecting me, I wouldn’t be able to defeat you every time we spar,” she told him with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Bull grumbled.  “But you slipped up last time, gave away your strategy.  I’m going to be using that to my advantage next time.”

“I bet.  Training ring at sundown, Bull.  See you then.”

* * *

“Varric.”  Hawke had slipped into the main hall without fuss, despite the nobles that Josephine was chatting with, and appeared next to Varric at his table.  “Who’s the uptight mage with the attitude?”

Varric, as usual, had been busy sorting through some documents - today, it was some finance reports that had become exceedingly boring to peruse - and had barely looked up to his friend.  “Are you talking about Vivienne?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke admitted with a lazy shrug, glancing at his work.  “I saw her in the courtyard earlier, and she told Cullen to stop dragging his feet because it made him look like… oh, and it was such great imagery.  Something like ‘a low-born pig farmer’, I think.”

“That’s Vivienne,” Varric confirmed with a slight smirk.

“Ah.  Because she clearly seems to think she’s better than everyone else, and I want to talk to her---”

“Please don’t.”

“---to see why.”  Hawke smiled, but it brought Varric no amount of comfort.  “Why not?”

“Bubbles, you’re a wonderful woman---”

“I know.”

“---but you will not get along with Vivienne,” Varric told her, looking up at her seriously.  “She’s First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, she’s the leader of the loyal mages, and she will have nothing but contempt for you.”   


Hawke chuckled.  “What else is new?  Who doesn’t have contempt for me?”

“The difference is,” Varric pressed, “Vivienne will have no problem expressing it to you in words that you may or may not understand.”

Hawke looked taken aback, but perhaps a little too dramatically.  “Varric!  I’m hurt.  I have quite the vocabulary.  I’m sure I will understand whatever she has to say.  After all, how many ways are there to say, ‘party to the breaking down of society’?”

“Don’t antagonize, please,” Varric told her as she stood.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Play nice, Bubbles.”

“I always do.”  She leaned over and pointed at one of the papers. "Column four doesn't add up." With a cheerful little wave, she disappeared into the nearby stairwell.

Varric watched her go, then looked back at the report in front of him. "Damn," he muttered, picking up his quill. "She's right."

 

"Vivienne?" Hawke poked her head through the door on the upper level to make sure the mage was indeed there, and in a position to be interrupted. "Or perhaps you'd prefer Madame Vivienne?" she continued, ascending the smaller set of stairs to reach Vivienne's little living area. "Or even First Enchanter Vivienne? Maybe just ma'am?"

Vivienne looked over to her with thinly pursed lips that made no effort to hide her disdain for the way in which she had just been greeted.  “Ah.  Hawke, isn’t it?  Or, perhaps  _ you _ prefer Champion?”

Hawke chuckled, leaning back against the railing that overlooked the hall below.  “Hawke is fine, really.  I would say you could even call me by my first name, but no one does that anymore.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne agreed shortly.  “I’ve heard much about 'the Hawke', making a name for mages all over Thedas.”

“Oh?”  Hawke, however, had picked up the slightest hint of disgust in the elder mage’s tone, but didn’t know what to do with it.  “Er.  Yeah, I guess so.  Actually--- actually that’s kind of why I’m bothering you.”

“Bothering me?”  Vivienne scoffed very lightly, in clear agreement of the statement.  “Bothering me for what?  Are you hoping to hear someone else praise you for what you’ve accomplished?  Another kind word to justify the decisions you’ve made?”

Hawke smiled.  “Quite the opposite.  From what I’ve heard, you’re the one I need to talk to if I want an honest account of what my actions have done for the name of mages everywhere.”

This seemed to surprise Vivienne, but she hid it by turning away.  “Is that so.”

“People revere me because they’ve heard twisted stories of what I’ve really done, and as those stories work their way from ear to mouth to ear, they become fantastical and unbelievable when compared to the truth.  But you, Madame Vivienne, are a very practical and realistic woman.  You, I’m sure, can see the truth of the matter.  And it’s that point of view that I’d like. If you'd be willing, that is.”

Vivienne turned to look at Hawke with a patient, measured gaze.  “My dear,” she began, “you did nothing good for the plight that my fellow mages insist hounds them at every moment.  You are an apostate who slipped through the cracks in both the Fereldan and Kirkwall Circles, and as a result, became complacent in your imagined freedom.  That complacency led you to support steps to destruction of the relationship between mages and Templars, mages and the public, and mages and other mages. What you've done for 'the name of mages everywhere' is to help turn them into something that should be feared."

Hawks nodded slowly. Vivienne's words were harsh, but true. It had always been a thought in the back of Hawke's mind that her reputation - as a mage, especially - had caused more problems than it solved. Even though she had done nothing but help wherever she could, she had accepted that she would never escape the reality of being an apostate. "I agree," she said finally. "But mages were already feared. Being able to pull power from the very air around us lends to a certain apprehension from anyone without that power. Or... am I wrong?"

The First Enchanter was watching her as she spoke; her lips were no longer pursed, and something about Hawke's acceptance of her rather severe assessment of the younger woman's life let her relax, if only a bit. "You are not wrong," she agreed. "But you are willing to admit that your actions as an apostate---"

"Did nothing to help the situation," Hawke finished for her. "I absolutely agree."

The elder woman considered the blonde for a very long moment, and Hawke didn't shrink under the scrutiny, instead meeting the half-contemptuous, half-curious gaze with her own serene smile. Finally, Vivienne let slip the smallest of smiles. "I am surprised, my dear. I've heard that Hawke was a brash, stubborn, single-minded woman with little regard for what's important. And yet, you are quite the pragmatic young woman. You're not quite what I expected."

Hawke chuckled brightly. "Usually, I'd agree with you; but under the circumstances, I believe a thank you is more appropriate. I appreciate hearing that from you, First Enchanter."

Vivienne allowed a chuckle so light it could have been mistaken for an exhale. "May I ask you a question, my dear?"

"Of course," Hawke agreed. "It's only fair."

"Do you regret anything you've done?"

"Quite the question," Hawke remarked with a subtle smirk. "Are you hoping to hear that I regret everything? That I wish I had been sent to the Fereldan Circle when my magic first became apparent? That I wish I had never stayed in Kirkwall?"

Vivienne shook her head once. "I wish only to hear the truth."

"Oh?" Hawke put her hands on the railing behind her and leaned back to look at the ceiling. She exhaled slowly, then smiled. "Well. The truth is, then, that I regret nothing." She looked back at Vivienne, expecting the disapproving frown. But she was met instead with the same patient, empty expression as the First Enchanter waited to hear it all. "Every decision I've made, everything I've done, has led me to this point, right? To be with the people I'm with, to forget the people I've left behind. And if I enjoy where I am - or, at the very least, if I accept where I am - I can't really complain about what happened up to this moment, can I?"

"And do you enjoy where you are?" Vivienne asked in a tone that was neither judgmental nor accepting.

Hawke smiled with a little giggle. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Vivienne nodded. "You are a surprising woman, my dear."

"That's my goal."


	12. disintegration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things start to break down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (see notes in chapter 5 regarding armor) Because Hawke definitely has better things on her mind than documenting the various pieces of Cullen’s armor.  And since this story is kind of, more-or-less, from her third person point of view, that’s my excuse for taking shortcuts.  Also, there’s more sex here, so.  Y’know, if that’s not your cup of tea….  Fair warning.

_ t w e l v e - d i s i n t e g r a t e d _

With passion’d breath does the darkness creep.   
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.   
_ Transfigurations 1:5 _

Alice had pulled Hawke aside in the early afternoon to let her know that the assault on Adamant was planned for the following day.  Hawke had asked a few brief questions, and said she’d leave first thing in the morning to meet up with Stroud so they could get a more current view of the situation with which to update the Inquisition’s forces.

“Take care of yourself,” Alice told her.  The sympathy in her eyes made Hawke smile.

“Y’know, Inquisitor,” Hawke said, “Varric makes my story out to be much more tragic than it is.  Everyone worries about me, but I’ve handled myself this far.  I’m sure you’ve been through your fair share of anguish.  You were, after all, at the Conclave.  Nothing about that situation was any good.  And I’m sure that while we could draw all sorts of parallels between that and what happened in Kirkwall, I’d still rather face Meredith than Corypheus any day of the week.”

Alice shrugged a little, and looked over the courtyard.  “I suppose I have been through a lot.”

“More than me,” Hawke agreed.  “And you’re handling yourself quite a bit better through it all, if I’m honest.  If you don’t mind my asking, did you lose anyone at the Conclave?”

The blonde frowned.  “Yes, I did.”

Hawke put a hand on her shoulder.  “Alice.”  The woman turned to look at Hawke, and Hawke gave her a small smile.  “You’re a stronger woman than I am.  When I lost the man I loved, I spent a week wallowing in grief before trying to pick myself up again.  From what I hear, you tumbled out of the Fade and immediately starting working on putting the world back together.  I admire you a great deal for that.”

“Thank you,” Alice said, smiling in spite of herself.  “It’s an honor to hear that from you.”

“You should be honored that you have nearly an entire continent that looks up to you,” Hawke corrected.  “I’m but one woman, despite what the stories claim otherwise.  You are one woman with a world ready to bow at your feet.  Whatever happens at Adamant, just know that you will always have my respect.”

Though only words, Alice was elated to hear the Champion say it.  She had always thought that the stories of what Hawke had done in Kirkwall painted a woman larger than life, and even meeting Hawke herself hadn’t truly changed her opinion on just how much sway a single mage had on history.  As a mage herself, Alice had found that she was inspired by what Hawke had done.  She was a reason for mages everywhere to strive to be something more, and proof that tragedy shouldn’t limit you.

They parted ways, and Hawke wandered towards the tavern.  If it was going to potentially be her last night in Skyhold, she thought maybe it was a good time to try her hand at telling the story of her defeat of Meredith.  It sounded like something out of a twisted nightmare, and held exactly the amount of shock value to ensure a captive audience.

She had been with the Inquisition for just over two months.  Though Alice had been doing her best to expedite troop movements and scouting relating to Hawke’s mission with the Wardens, Hawke knew that there were dozens of things that required the Inquisition’s attention and so found herself content with the days of downtime.  At first, she was anxious spending more than a two or three day stretch in a single place, but as events had unfolded, Hawke found she became more and more complacent with spending three then four then five days at a time within Skyhold’s walls.  She would still travel down the mountain pass once in a while to nearby wilderness or villages to see what else she could be doing - killing demons, helping travelers, entertaining the children in the refugee camps - but never stayed away for too long.  Maybe it was because she wanted to be kept up to date with the Inquisition’s plans regarding the Wardens, but more likely, it was because she was finding that she had friends to keep her anchored.

Varric was always around whenever Hawke wanted to talk or play cards or just waste some time, and it was nice to fall back into old habits with a good friend.  Alice was an interesting conversation partner as well, and Hawke enjoyed hearing about her days at the Ostwick circle.  Iron Bull had given her more insight on the Qunari, and Hawke admitted to him that regardless of what had happened in Kirkwall, she had always found the Qun to be an interesting way of life.  Dorian had offered her some passing thoughts on the Qunari as well, and they had spent a number of hours discussing Tevinter’s view of magic.  Sera had taken an immediate liking to Hawke - despite some initial hesitation regarding her magic - especially when Hawke had offered her a handful of ideas for pranks adapted from adventures she had had years ago.  Vivienne’s opinions about the necessity of the Circle had piqued Hawke’s interest, and even though the First Enchanter had been doubtful of her intentions at first, Hawke had managed to convince her that she, too, agreed that the Circle was a useful institution; though she added that the harsh restrictions in the Gallows represented everything wrong with such an institution.  Cassandra had been a pleasant surprise, nothing like the brutish interrogator that Varric had led her to believe had swiped him from Kirkwall without warning; ...okay, maybe just a  _ little _ like what he had described, but only in the best ways, as the Seeker was - underneath it all - decidedly mortal and fallible, just like everyone else.

And of course, Cullen.  Certainly, Hawke had not been expecting to reunite with a man she once considered more of an irritation than any level of acquaintance.  But she had been happily startled to see that Cullen had, indeed, changed from her memories of frowning disapproval and thinly veiled threats.  He still had a healthy distrust of most mages at first - a distrust that Hawke had come to see as necessary, considering the apostates she had met her in travels, most of which had attacked her out of fear - but he had accepted her, regardless of her abilities.  Hawke thought that maybe, just maybe, she held a sort of lewd satisfaction that he was - had been - a Templar, and the whole idea of mages and Templars in “forbidden” relationships was always a popular topic in fluffy romances; however, the truth of the matter was simply that he knew what she had been through, because he had seen his fair share of agony.

When the sun set, Hawke bid her audience in the tavern farewell, assuring them that yes, everything she had just finished telling them had, indeed, really happened (of course, with some well-placed embellishments, for storytelling’s sake).  She went to Cullen’s office to find him in the middle of a discussion with a few men and women she recognized as Leliana’s agents.  So she stood silently at the back of the room.  He had glanced up to see her, doing his best to hide the smile that surfaced.

“One more sweep of the surrounding ruins wouldn’t hurt,” he continued, pointing at a map, “but the primary focus should be the tomb.  The Inquisitor mentioned a few lingering corpses, but nothing you can’t handle.  And tell Sister Nightingale that she needs to trust my soldiers to do their job as well.  I’ve told her numerous times, but maybe she’ll actually listen to you.  Dismissed.”

Cullen followed them to the door, and closed it behind them.  “Leliana still as stubborn as ever?” Hawke guessed, snaking her arms around his neck.  “I think I hear you complaining about her more than anything else these days.”

“Her network is useful, but I still think she refuses to look at alternatives,” he said, sounding exhausted.  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell her that our troops can do just as much as her agents.”

“Oh, but they aren’t as quiet,” Hawke pointed out.  “She’s just trying to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

“She’s trying to do everything her own way,” Cullen countered with a sigh.

Hawke chuckled and leaned up to kiss him.  “Then let’s take your mind off of work, Commander.  I have a few ideas that mostly involve getting you out of this armor as quickly as possible.”

He smiled, leaning in.  “I’d like that.”

Hawke pulled away, but tugged him over to the ladder.  She started up it, and Cullen was close behind.  When they reached the top, Cullen pulled her close and kissed her with an intensity matched only by her own.  She was already working on taking off whatever piece of his armor she could reach, giggling when he broke away to help her out.  One of the straps was caught, and after a brief moment of struggle - during which Hawke taunted him rather mercilessly - he finally managed to shed the bulkier pieces.  Hawke pushed him towards the bed, pulling off his gauntlets as they moved.  With a quick kiss, she put a hand on his chest and nudged him onto the edge of the bed, where he sat quite obediently.  “I,” she began with a smirk, shrugging off her own - albeit much lighter - armor, “get to be on top tonight, Commander.”

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” he told her with a smirk as she tugged her leggings down, wiggling her hips a little.

Once she stood naked in front of him, she put a hand on her hip.  “I think,” she said, “that sounded like a challenge.”

“It might have been,” Cullen agreed airily, motioning her forward.  “I’ll let you have a head start, though.”

“Oh my,” she said breezily, walking towards him with a sway of her hips adopted entirely for effect, “how very kind of you, Commander.”  She helped him out of the rest of his clothing with another teasing round of comments about how quickly she had managed to get him out of his clothes.  As usual during her more sarcastic remarks, Cullen ignored most of it, and pulled her onto the bed with him.

She fell on top of him, pushing him onto his back, and trailed kisses along his shoulders and neck.  His hands ventured over her skin, brushing over scars new and old and tickling the spots he had discovered made her giggle.

“I’m surprised,” she whispered into his ear.  “Usually by now, you’ve grabbed my hips and had your way with me.”

“I did say I’d give you a head start,” he reminded her with a smirk.

Hawke giggled and sat up, keeping her hands on his chest and stomach.  “I should take advantage of this boon, then,” she said, letting her nails rake down his skin as she trailed them down to his cock.  “After all, this might be my last night with you.  I would like to ride you to completion just once.”

Before she could do anything further, Cullen sat up, forcing her up onto her knees.  He embraced her, kissing her deeply.  She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled away slightly.  “What was that for, Commander?”

“You’re right,” he murmured, holding her tightly and kissing her again.  “This could be our last night together.”

“Does that change anything?” she asked with a light smile.

“I don’t want to waste it,” he told her, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  “I’ve come to rather enjoy our time together, Hawke, and---”

She cut him off with a wet kiss and slowly lowered herself onto his cock.  “Sh,” she told him when he moaned.  “Don’t ruin this with words, Commander.  Just let me fuck you.”

He didn’t argue and kissed her again, fierce and hot and messy, moving his hands to her hips to facilitate the process, helping her roll her hips further and slide up on his cock higher.  Hawke kept one hand on his jawline, caressing his cheek and scratching at his stubble; she wrapped her other arm around his shoulders to ensure there was little to no space between them.  Amid the breathy moans, Hawke would periodically steal another kiss; each elicited a renewed grip on her hips and a quickening desperation.

Even though their sex was still quick and urgent, not entirely quiet, and certainly fun, something was different between them; Hawke couldn’t help but notice.  Cullen’s hands were more gentle, his kisses more tender, and the way he held her was somehow softer.  It was familiar.  It wasn’t the kind of fucking she had expected, the kind where you’re just trying to get off and have a good time.  This was….  It was passionate and affectionate.  It was a means to express what couldn’t be said in words.  It was gripping her heart with forgotten sentiments, and made her own actions… desperate.

“Hawke,” Cullen managed through a kiss.  “Hawke--- I’m---”

“Sh,” she urged him again and crushed her mouth back to his, burying herself on his cock as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed into her, releasing inside her, moaning onto her lips.  She didn’t break away immediately, letting her hands caress his face with careful kindness.  “I told you,” she breathed when she did break away, “not to ruin it with words.”

He chuckled, and reached up to touch her face.  Then his smile turned to a frown, and he ran his thumb over her cheek.  “Are you crying?”

Hawke pulled back very quickly, her hands flying to her face.  “What?  No, I---”  But she felt the tears on her cheeks.  “N-no, I wasn’t…”  Crying?  She pulled up much too quickly, making Cullen wince a little, but ignored it and stood, turning away from him, hands still on her cheeks.  “I-I’m sorry, I just--- I must have---”

“Hawke.”  Cullen stood as well, reaching out a hand to put on her shoulder.  But she pulled away, still refusing to look at him.  “Hawke, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not all right!” she snapped suddenly, spinning back around.  Tears had spilled from her eyes, and they were wide, shocked; she looked like she was one step away from breaking down entirely.  “I’m supposed to be enjoying the night with you, and we were going to fuck, but then you were holding me like that, and it-it was soft and gentle, and you aren’t supposed to  _ care _ like that, Cullen!  I was supposed to be having sex with  _ you _ , but all I could think about was how, how  _ he _ used to hold me, and---”

Cullen moved forward before she could back away again and wrapped his arms around her.  “Shh,” he told her, even when she struggled against him.  “Hawke, it’s all right.  I’m here for you.”

“But you aren’t supposed to be,” she sobbed into his chest, finally settling in his arms.  “I’ve been alone for so long, and I’m used to that, and you aren’t supposed to be here and caring about me.”

He just held her for a moment while she took a few shaking breaths.  He kissed the top of her head, and pulled back to smile at her.  “You could use some air,” he told her.

“Wh-what?”

“Well,” he corrected himself, and let her go to retrieve a towel from the bedside table, “first, you’re… er, dripping,” he said, handing it to her, “and then we should probably put some clothes on.  And then you could use some air.  It gets stuffy in here, doesn’t it?”

She hesitantly took the towel, looking at him as if this was some kind of trick.  But she did feel a slow drip inching its way down her leg, so she reached down to wipe it up.  When she looked back up, Cullen had pulled his pants on and was proffering her leggings.  She wasn’t used to this, but she recognized the tactic.  Because this was something she often did with her friends when they started panicking over whatever it was they were worried about at the time.  Sometimes it was better not to address a topic head-on, but to let it work itself out, using fresh air or a walk as a vehicle to get the conversation back on a track that didn’t involve tears or yelling.

She put on her leggings and tunic in silence and let Cullen lead her down the ladder and out onto the ramparts.  “The weather’s been nice,” he commented vaguely, looking up at the sky.

“Oh, Cullen, no,” Hawke said, feeling herself grimace with just a hint of a smile.  “No, you were doing so well; don’t start with the weather.”

He chuckled, and moved a little closer to her, letting his hand brush hers as they walked.  Hawke looked up at him, but he was glancing out over the mountains.  She sighed and took his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” she said as they eventually slowed to a stop.  Cullen turned towards her, taking her other hand in his as well.  “I guess I just… freaked out,” she explained, looking down at their hands.  “I was expecting sex.  But you apparently had other plans, so.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead.  “I had no such plans, Hawke.  But it’s hard not to come to care about someone like you.”

“Mm,” she hummed, sounding unconvinced.  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

“Hey.”  He reached up and tilted her head up so she had to look at him.  “It’s true.”

A very slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and Hawke pulled a little closer.  “Cullen.  Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Once, back in Kirkwall, you said something about how mages aren’t people.”

“I--- what?” he cut her off.

But Hawke just chuckled.  “You said that they - we - are weapons that could light a city on fire in a fit of anger.  Don’t worry,” she assured him when he started to say something else, “I’m not bringing it up to hold it against you.  I mention it because you were right.  And that’s all I’ve ever heard about mages, that at the slightest provocation, we could turn into abominations and terrorize our way through a city.  But somehow, when  _ you _ said it, maybe just the way you said it, it seemed to be true.  And I actually believed you, because it was true.

“I’ve never considered using my magic to ‘rule over man’, or whatever it is that the Chantry so fears about magic.  I had never even entertained the few demons I encountered when they offered me riches or fame or… one offered me virgins, actually.  Almost sad I didn’t take him up on that one.”

Cullen snorted, and Hawke smiled.  “Really.”

“Of course.  A dozen virgins at my beck and call?  Who could say no to that?  But I’m not trying to tell you about virgins.”

“Mhm,” Cullen agreed.

“I’m trying to tell you about what happened a year after I left Kirkwall with Anders,” she continued.  “One night, I had a dream about Kirkwall burning.  I could hear the screams of civilians, and I could see buildings collapse around me, and I could smell the fire and burning bodies.  And it was pretty terrible.

“But then I was at the Gallows, with the city burning behind me.  Do you know who was there, too?” she prompted.

“Who?” Cullen asked.

“My sister, Bethany.”  Hawke smiled a little.  “She died before we could make it to Kirkwall, but she would have hated you.  She was a mage, too, and always got twitchy around Templars.  But anyway, in the dream, she was so angry with me.  That’s how I knew it had to be her.  She chewed me out something awful, pointing to the city and asking me how I let it get like that, and didn’t Father teach me anything about magic?  I tried to explain that I had done my best, but she wouldn’t hear any of it.  Finally, she took me by the arm and led me into the tower.  And she took me to where Orsino’s body lay.  And she told me that she had seen what happened, and that she finally understood why mages aren’t treated like people, because when backed into a corner, we have options that no one else does.

“Then she punched me and told me to get my shit in order, because bandits were about to raid our camp.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed when he looked down at her.  Hawke laughed.  “They were,” she said.  “I woke up suddenly, but just in time to see a scout running away.  He had triggered one of the wards, and Anders was just barely stirring from the commotion.  So I grabbed my staff and hunted the bandits down.  Luckily it was a small group, just six of them.”

“But--- the dream?” Cullen asked hesitantly.

“What?  No, the story was about bandits,” Hawke said mockingly.  “I’m going to tell you about the great chase we had, and the ensuing battle in which I absolutely obliterated them, and--- of course it wasn’t about the bandits,” she said, laughing, when Cullen gave her a rather skeptical look.  “In my dream,” she continued when her giggling subsided, “Bethany said almost the same thing you had said years earlier.  I thought that was interesting.  But it also made me realize that if she could agree with a Templar, maybe that Templar wasn’t such a bad guy.  So.  What I’m trying to say is.  I’m… glad I got to see you again.”  Hawke reached up to touch his cheek.  “And I’m really glad you didn’t hate me after what I did to your former commanding officer.”

“She had it coming, I think,” Cullen said, leaning forward to put his forehead against Hawke’s.  “But I’m glad to hear that you’re happy.”

“Quite happy, indeed,” Hawke agreed.  “Thanks, in no small part, to you, Commander.”

He kissed her lightly.  “I’m happy to help.”

“Good.  Because,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling closer, “I can name a few things I might need some help with.  But back in your bedroom.”

“Do any of them rhyme with ‘ducking’ or ‘decks’?” he asked with a smirk.

“Many of them might, yes,” she agreed with a cheerful little giggle.


	13. of a defeat hid far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke faces her fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, one of these days I'll figure out how to update when I should. It's not even like I don't have the chapters already written. I'm gonna blame school, can I blame school? :T
> 
> I battled for a bit about whether or not I wanted to include this chapter in the story, because it basically does exactly what I don’t do, which is tell you about a canon in-game storyline. So I cut it up into shorter scenes, just little bits of dialogue that I wanted to write about. That’s why it just jumps around. I figured that would be better than boring you with a description of the Fade, which you definitely already know about.

_ t h i r t e e n - o f  a  d e f e a t  h i d  f a r _

I cannot see the path.  
Perhaps there is only abyss.  
Trembling, I step forward,  
In darkness enveloped.  
_ Trials 1:13 _

“Where are we?”

Hawke stared out into the void.  She knew this place, even if it felt… different.  It felt visceral and  _ real _ , not like the ghostly place she feared to visit every night.  She could distinctly feel the stone under her feet, on which she was definitely standing; she could hear, sharp against the dull but throbbing ambient noise, Alice’s voice as she explained what had happened; she could see, clear as day, Stroud looking at her from exactly the wrong angle in space.  They were in the Fade.

“This can’t be good,” Hawke said, considering the ground on which Alice, Varric, Sera, and Bull stood.  It was nearly upside down to her own footing. “We need to find out way out. Soon.”

“Agreed,” Stroud said, similarly considering his position as well, which was perpendicular in relation to Alice, and sideways to Hawke.  “While we are stuck in here, the Wardens are left in disarray.”

“Let’s go,” Alice said firmly.  “That,” she pointed to a disruption in the ethereal sky above, out on the horizon, “must be our way out.”

Stroud took a few hesitant steps forward, towards what seemed to be the actual ground on which Alice was standing.  He slowly put one foot forward; as soon as it touched the new surface, he awkwardly stumbled as his point of reference changed.  Hawke watched him, then sighed, looking up to see the surface she had to navigate to. “I hate the Fade,” she said with a sigh.

“ _ You _ hate the Fade?” Sera demanded from above.  Or would it be from below? “Least you’re familiar with it, yeah?  Never been here before--- never want to come back. Feels weird here.  Like the air’s alive. Not natural.”

“Help me down,” Hawke asked, reaching her hand up/down.  “This seems like it might hurt if I try it on my own.”

Sera reached up for her, but Bull stopped her before her hand touched Hawke’s.  “How about I handle this one,” he said with a slight chuckle. “No way you can catch her.”

* * *

_ “And Varric.  Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you.” _

“Just keep talking,” Varric growled under his breath.

Hawke frowned from the back of the group.  Varric’s shoulders had tensed, and his grip on Bianca was noticeably tighter.  This was all a mind game--- of course it was. The Nightmare was playing off their fears.

Their fears.

Was that really what Varric was afraid of?  Putting her in more danger? Surely he knew by now that any danger she had found herself in was - if she was honest with herself - because of her own stubborn decisions; Varric was, overall, nearly blameless for what she had gone through. If anything, having him next her to throughout it had made her excruciating journey through life significantly less painful.

She took a few quicker steps to match pace with the dwarf.  “Varric,” she said gently, “you know that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s not,” he said, almost too quickly, and without looking at her.

She frowned a little. No, she wanted to make sure he wasn't blaming himself for this. She had been the one to provide the Inquisition with information that led them to Adamant; she was the one who had pointed them towards Clarel and Erimond. If anything, she had put  _ him _ in danger. “You know as well as I do that I am perfectly capable of finding danger on my own,” she continued.  “This isn’t your fault.”

He looked up at her, but almost immediately averted his gaze.  “You’re still here because I asked you to help the Inquisition.”

“And I came,” Hawke pressed firmly, “because I knew you wouldn’t be asking unless you really needed my help.  This isn’t your fault,” she repeated.

Varric sighed; his death grip on his crossbow loosened slightly. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I don't like that you're in this situation. You should be back in Kirkwall, watching over the Hanged Man. You know how it just falls apart without me,” he said, colored by some of his usual jovial tone.

Hawke chuckled. “Don’t worry; we'll get out of this soon enough, and I will personally ensure the Hanged Man is running just as smoothly as you'd like it to be, hm?”

The smallest of smiles twitched at the corners of his mouth, and Varric looked up at Hawke. “Thanks, Bubbles.”

* * *

“Spread out, see what you can find.”  Alice directed everyone into the large open area they found themselves in.  Spires of stone rose into the sky, disappearing into nothing. A sea lapped at the shore nearby, silent save for the distant sound of unseen waves.  The entire Fade had seemed to breathe on its own, but this area was still.

“Found one of those Dreamers, Boss,” Bull called, waving Alice over to a small table at which was seated a ghostly green figure, unmoving.

Hawke watched Alice and Bull discuss this, and turned to see where the others had gone.  Sera had stuck to the wall to their left, as far from the unreal sea as she could manage.  She was busying herself with examining the wall itself, her back kept to as much of the weirdness behind her as she could manage.  Varric, on the other hand, had done just the opposite, and was walking at the edge of the oddly textured water that rushed forth and pulled back in a somehow familiar rhythm.  He was staring out at the horizon, hands tight on Bianca. Stroud was considering the way in which they had come, since they had taken a forked path. Careful not to venture too far off, he was exploring the other path, to see if he could figure out where it might lead.

Hawke looked around the area again, and noticed a small fenced-off area towards the far end.  Varric and Sera would both make it there eventually if they continued to follow the essentially ovular walls, but since she had nothing else to do, she went directly to it.

It was a graveyard.

She stopped before walking through the open gate.  She knew the Fade; she knew how traps felt. This wasn’t one.  Yet still she hesitated before stepping forward. What lied beyond made her uncomfortable in a way she wasn’t quite sure she could put into words if asked.  She could just  _ feel _ that something troubling was awaiting discovery.

“We’re looking for a bottle,” she heard Alice call.  Hawke turned back to them, to see the Stroud had rejoined them in the clearing and was standing with the Inquisitor and Bull.  “Or a vial or some sort.”

Hawke turned back to the graveyard.  Had she failed to notice it before, or had it just appeared?  On top of the furthest tombstone was a glass bottle filled with what looked to be blood.  She stepped forward to reach for it, but then it was on the next stone over. She frowned at it.  Another trick. She reached for it again, and it jumped to the right two stones. Hawke sighed. Once more, she would try, before enlisting the help of the others.  She reached for the bottle once more… and grabbed it.

“Sneaky bugger,” she muttered at it.  She turned to call for Alice, but then noticed the engraving on the tombstone she was in front of.

_ Varric Tethras _ _   
_ _ Became his parents _

Hawke frowned, and looked up to find her friend.  Varric was still walking along the oddly defined shore, closer to her now.   _ Became his parents _ , what a bizarre thing to have on a tombstone.  She glanced back at it, and noticed the one next to it.

_ Cassandra Pentaghast _ _   
_ _ Helplessness _

“Inquisitor,” Hawke called, looking away.  “I found your bottle.” Now she understood why she had felt such discomfort upon entering this graveyard.  These memorials to signify death were engraved with everyone’s fears. Fears. She wanted to get out, but the others were already nearing her.

“Excellent,” Alice said, holding her hand out for it.  “And… what’s this?” Her eyes passed over the tombstones with little more than a cursory glance.  “In a graveyard, was it?”

“Let’s go,” Hawke said firmly, pointing away.  But the others were starting to take interest in it as well.

“Who died?” Sera asked, looking at the stone closest to her.  Her curious sort of smirk turned into a frown. It had been hers.

_ Sera  
_ _ The Nothing _

“No,” she said, shaking her head.  “This is wrong. Bad.”

“It is,” Hawke said pointedly, “so let’s go.”

Sera didn’t need to be told twice, and was spinning on her heel to leave, barely stemming the stream of curses that spilled from her lips.  Alice looked over a few of the tombstones before - with an expression that matched the discomfort Hawke could still feel crawling over her own skin - turned and headed back towards the Dreamer’s table where Stroud was waiting.

Bull and Varric were not so easily deterred, however.  The Qunari had found his own “grave”, and was considering it silently.   _ Madness _ .  Varric had found a grave to stare at as well, but Hawke noticed it was not his own.  When he looked up at her with a slight frown and opened his mouth to start to say something that was sure to be comforting and reassuring, she knew immediately whose name was on that tombstone.

“Bull,” she said, interrupting Varric before he could begin.  “C’mon, we don’t need to be seeing this.” She put a hand on his arm, and gently turned him away, towards the others.

“Weird to see it in writing like that,” he said with a little chuckle.  “Always something you know, never something you think about.”

“True,” Hawke agreed.  When she was sure he was heading away from the graveyard, she turned back to Varric.  He hadn’t left the grave, and was still watching her with the same pained expression.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she said.  “Don’t pretend you didn’t already know that about me.”  She walked back over to him to guide him away like she had Bull, but he stopped her, putting one of his hands over hers. She frowned.

He squeezed her hand slightly. “You won't be,” he told her softly. Then he broke away and walked back towards the others.

Hawke watched him go.  She knew she should follow.  She knew she should keep her back to the tombstone and walk forward and never look back.  She knew that if she turned around to read the words she could feel without having seen, she would only get that familiar tightness in her chest that she felt when she had to face realities she was trying to deny.  She knew she should go.

So of course, she turned to see.

She had been right.  Her heart skipped, her chest hurt, and her eyes closed as soon as she had seen the words.  She spun around, and left.

But the engraving was now cut as deep in her mind as it had been on the stone.

_ Being the Last One _

* * *

The Nightmare howled at them, drawing closer, shrinking the space between them and their exit with every second. The green miasma of their escape was behind it, tantalizingly close.

A decision needed to be made. If they all ran for it, there was no guarantee they'd all make it through--- there was no guarantee any of them would make it through. But if the Nightmare was distracted… if there was a singular target to stop, the others would survive. Hawke frowned. Every decision she had made to reach this point was coming back to her. She had sacrificed herself time and again to ensure the happiness of others. She wasn't about to stop now.

The choice was clear.

“Someone has to stay behind to buy us some time!” Hawke shouted over the roar of noise around them. She turned to the others. The unearthly wind whipped around them.  Alice was frowning at her, knowing exactly what was coming. “Go! Thedas needs you.”

Hawke met Varric’s gaze; his was pained.  _ No _ , it said, very clearly,  _ not like this. Not now. Not yet. _

“We can't all make it,” she said, looking away. She couldn't bear the silent begging, the pleading that made her heart ache. “If I stay back, you can---”

“No, Hawke,” Stroud interrupted, stepping forward.  “This began as a Warden matter, and it falls upon the Wardens to finish it.  I will remain in the Fade. We can’t lose you yet.”

“I'm just one woman,” she argued angrily. Why did everyone keep trying to convince her otherwise? “The Wardens need you.”

“Go,” he told her.

“I won’t just---”

“Go!” he shouted.  For a brief moment, a frown flitted across his face.  But then he steadied himself, and turned towards the beast bearing down between them and the portal leading back to Thedas.

“I can’t just leave him,” Hawke insisted, turning desperately to the others for support.  “ _ We _ can't. Please, Inquisitor, take him--- you know as well as I do that the Wardens will need him.”

“He’s right,” Alice said, earning immediate disagreement from Hawke; she pressed on, ignoring the Champion.  “You said Thedas needs me, but they need you just as much. All you've done so far is just the start, and Stroud knows that. Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain, Hawke.”

“But---”

“We need to go!” Bull called, already heading towards the portal.  “Now or never!”

Alice shepherded Varric and Sera towards Bull, and turned to usher Hawke along.

Stroud had shouted at the monster to get its momentary attention.  He was running towards it. Hawke had just caught his voice on the piercing wind.  “ _ In war, victory _ .”

“Hawke, let’s go!” Alice shouted at her.  Hawke frowned, winced, and against every fiber of her being, every thought in her head that told her to stay, turned and followed Alice’s harried gesticulations towards the others, and their way out.

Stroud swung at one of the long tendrils coming at him, and sliced it off, only to have his opposite shoulder pierced with another.  He cried out, but continued. “ _ In peace _ ,” he panted, hoisting his shield and pushing forward, “ _ vigilance _ .”

Hawke lingered before stepping through the portal.  She could see Stroud was bleeding. But then Alice pushed her forward, and they tumbled through the Veil.  Stroud’s voice, ghostly and ethereal, whispered through her ears as she saw him take a heavy blow to his stomach and get lifted into the air before everything went dark.

“ _ In death, sacrifice _ .”


	14. parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke says goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even just rereading this chapter makes my heart hurt. I think I'm too attached to Hawke. Oops.  
> While this is the last official chapter, I've got a whole epilogue thing left to do. So stay tuned~

_f o u r t e e n - p a r t i n g_

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity.  
_Andraste 14:11_

All at once, the world came back in to focus.  There were some shouts of surprise, and some lingering battles.  But Alice raised her hand, and closed the tear. The remaining demons howled and dissipated where they stood.

“Inquisitor!”  Now, shouts of joy filled the air, cheers and congratulations.

Hawke had tumbled out of the Fade and landed painfully a few feet away.  She groaned, trying to correctly identify “up”. She felt a hand on her arm that helped her to her feet.  “Bubbles.”

She felt her side tenderly; there might have been a bruised rib or two.  Varric was smiling slightly at her. “Good?”

Hawke stood with a sigh.  “I should have stayed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Varric said firmly.

“You can’t keep thinking---”  Hawke shook her head and stopped.  “It doesn’t matter. I think… I think we should just appreciate for now that we managed to stop the Nightmare.”

Varric finally let go of her arm.  She hadn’t quite looked at him when she turned away with a sigh. “One less,” she said under her breath. “One closer.”

“Closer to what?” Varric asked. She was facing away from him, watching the Wardens and Inquisition soldiers considering their victory. “Hawke?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She took a breath, and made her way over to where the Inquisitor stood.  Varric watched her; she was limping slightly, and holding her side, but even despite that, there was something that had fallen in her.  She was working on steadying herself for something, and Varric didn’t want to know what.

“Without the Nightmare, Corypheus loses a decent bit of his power,” Hawke pointed out to Alice.  “And here you are, responsible for it all.”

Alice chuckled lightly.  “It was all of us; I can’t take sole credit.”

An agent jogged over to them.  “Inquisitor,” he greeted her. “The Archdemon flew off when you disappeared.  That Venatori Magister is still alive, but unconscious. And the remaining Wardens helped us fight off the demons.”

“The question remains what to do with them, however,” Hawke said.  She frowned a little. “If Stroud was here…”

“What happened to Ser Stroud?” one of the higher-ranking Wardens asked.

“Stroud made a sacrifice,” Alice said before Hawke could let her bitter response leave her own lips.  “He understood the gravity of the situation, and he sacrificed himself so the Wardens could be spared.  As of now, the remaining Orlesian Grey Wardens will be agents of the Inquisition, until such a time that the formal hierarchy is repaired.”

“Then I’ll head to Weisshaupt to let them know what happened here,” Hawke said, stepping forward.  “With luck, they’ll be able to offer you aid as well.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” Alice said.  “Maker watch over you.”

Hawke smiled slightly as she turned to go.  “Maker watch over us all, Inquisitor.”

There was a hesitant atmosphere of optimism slowly seeping through Adamant.  Hawke knew that leaving sooner rather than later was, indeed, preferable; Weisshaupt had been oddly quiet in recent months and the sooner anyone could find out why, the better for the whole of Thedas.  But she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She knew what that felt like; nothing could convince her to inflict that wound upon another.

“Well, Bubbles,” Varric said, joining her as she leaned on the wall in a corner of the battlements away from the commotion.  “Off to the Anderfels, then?”

“I am,” she agreed, barely looking at him.  “It’ll be nice to see the mountains this time of year, I think,” she continued with what they both knew was a forced cheeriness.

“You never were very good with the cold weather,” Varric said.  “I don’t think you’ll enjoy it as much as you think you will.”

She chuckled.  “You’re probably right.”

When she lapsed into silence, Varric moved closer and put a hand on her arm.  “Lucy,” he said gently. The use of her first name almost caught her off-guard. Varric's tone conveyed his concern, and the fact that he hadn't called her Lucy in years revealed his worry that this might be his last chance.  “You don’t have to go.”

Of course, she knew that was coming.  She continued looking anywhere but her friend.  “Yes I do,” she said firmly. “Someone has to, and it might as well be me.”

“If he wasn’t here---”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“---he might not be at Weisshaupt either.”

“This is about the Wardens.”

“We could use you here.”

“You don’t need me.”

“ _I_ do.”

“Varric.”  Finally, she looked at him, and her eyes were painted with pain.  “I can’t stay.”

He sighed, giving her arm a little squeeze.  “I know. I don't like it, but I know." His hand lingered on her arm before he dropped it. He attempted to adopt a slightly more light-hearted tone, one they were both far more familiar with.  "Well, Bubbles.”

She leaned over and cut him off with a sudden hug.  “You’ve been a great friend to me, Varric,” she said.  “I cannot begin to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

Varric was initially startled; Hawke had never been one for emotional shows of affection.  But she hugged him a little tighter, and something in her touch hinted that she wasn’t just planning on leaving for the Anderfels; she was leaving something behind.  He didn’t know what - maybe she didn’t even know - but he now knew what she had been steadying herself up for since they tumbled back into reality. He realized all at once that she had been planning to say goodbye since the reality of the Wardens had first been realized. When she was denied her farewell in the Fade, she took it upon herself to ensure she wouldn't be denied again. Varric could feel an ache inside of her, a pain with no name that was starting to eke back into the light and taint her core. Try as he might to deny it, he knew she needed this. She needed to say goodbye.

He hugged her back.  “Take care of yourself,” he told her.  “You know how to reach me if you ever need anything.”

She pulled back, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  “I know, Varric; thank you.”

He looked at her, reaching up to touch her cheek.  “Give ‘em hell, Hawke.”

With the slightest of giggles and a smile, she straightened.  “I know no other way to live.” Her smile settled into place as she looked past him to see Cullen approaching.  “Ah, but I do believe my next appointment is here.”

Varric chuckled, and turned to leave.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He gave Cullen a slight nod as he passed the Commander, and Cullen approached Hawke with a poor attempt at masking a sigh.  “You’re leaving,” he said.

“I am,” she said, reaching out to take his hands in hers when he drew near enough.  “Someone needs to go to Weisshaupt, and it might as well be me. I do so like traveling.”

"You know we can send scouts, messengers--- you could stay."

Hawke sighed, but pulled a little closer with a smile.  “No, I can’t. And you know I can’t. We lost Stroud, we lost Clarel.  The deliverer of this message needs to be someone who can handle herself against all odds.  And looking back at my life, I think I might be just that someone.”

“Is this about---”

“Maker’s breath,” she cut him off, but with a small smile up at him.  “You and Varric, Andraste preserve me. _No_ , this is not about Anders.”

“Had you hoped to find him here?” Cullen asked, taking one of his hands out of hers to reach up and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Are you looking for him at Weisshaupt?”

“I---”

“And don’t lie to me,” he said before she could do just that.

Hawke chuckled.  “All right, all right.  I did not, in fact, expect to find him here.  But yes, even though I know he’s done with being a Warden, I am hoping he’s at Weisshaupt.  Yes, I do want to find him again. Good enough?”

Cullen smiled slightly.  “Yes. It’s about time you admitted that.”

“I suppose it is,” she agreed.  She glanced away, and her smile slipped.  “Look, Cullen,” she started, putting her free hand on his chest.  “I know… I know we weren’t, er, together for long, but. But I just wanted to say… that…”

Cullen gently turned her back to face him with a hand on her chin.  “It’s all right,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I know I was only ever a temporary distraction for you.”

She looked up at him.  “No, no,” she insisted.  “See, that’s how you started out, right?  Just a nice way to relax and not have to think about everything, but then you….  You actually cared,” she said, chuckling awkwardly and dropped her gaze. “I figured you’d get tired of my bullshit at some point, but you kept trying to make sure I was all right, and you kept prodding me about my past, and making me think about all the decisions I've made, and even now, that’s what you’re doing, and I never expected to find someone else who… who cared.  I’ve spent so long without anyone like that, and then you were here, and you cared, and---”

“You’re nervous,” he cut her off with a smirk, caressing her cheek.  “Don’t be.”

She giggled; her cheeks were warm.  “It’s hard not to be. I was never really good with goodbyes, and you’re here, and I truly wish I didn’t have to say goodbye, but I do, and so I’m trying to, but you’re standing here, really close, and I’m going to miss you, Cullen, and I don’t know if I’ll see you again, and---”

He cut off her rambling - thankfully, for them both - by leaning forward and kissing her.  She responded eagerly, if aggressively, and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling close up on her tiptoes as he wrapped his arms around her.  For a moment, they stood, wrapped in that embrace, kissing each other passionately, like they were trying to say everything that had been left unsaid; deeply, like this might be their last moment together; and desperately, like the very world around them would fade into oblivion.

Cullen broke away slowly, softly, but didn’t let her go.  “For what it’s worth,” he breathed against her lips, “I love you.  I don’t expect you to return it. But I want you to know that no matter what happens, you aren’t alone.  You’ve gone through too much for one woman, and I can’t bear the thought of you experiencing even one more moment of pain.”

Hawke kissed him again, but lightly.  “I know,” she whispered. “You’ve been too good to me, Cullen.  I was very lucky to meet you. Despite our differences, you always did stand beside me.”

“And I always will.”  One last kiss, Hawke brought her hands around to hold his head, caressing his cheeks, and they broke apart.  “Take care of yourself,” Cullen told her, leaning forward to touch his forehead to hers. “Know that you have allies in the Inquisition, should you ever need them.”

“As long as you guys succeed,” she teased, just a hint of her usual playfulness as she touched her nose to his.  “But I know you will. Your Inquisitor is something else.”

They stepped back and looked at each other for a long moment.  Hawke did her best to keep her smile hoisted firmly in place, but it was beginning to slip in the corners.  She turned away. “I’ll write you when I can,” she said in a voice that betrayed that her smile had indeed slipped, and shattered on the stone at their feet.  “Good luck, Commander.”

Cullen watched as she left. Her shoulders were low but steady, her pace deliberate but slow, and her hands shook as she reached up to run her fingers through her hair. Everything about her stature betrayed her attempts at confidence. She didn't want to leave. But she was.

Then why was she? Cullen could only begin to guess, but he suspected it was because she was finally at peace--- the wrong kind of peace.  She wasn’t content in her life, she hadn’t found complacency in the events of her past like she should have. No, even though she was able to accept what had happened to her, that acceptance led her to realize that she no longer had a place in the world.

Surrounded by people that loved her, she would always be alone, because her scars made her too guarded to let anyone in, her past made her too enigmatic for anyone to relate, and her pain made her too bitter for anyone to sympathize. Even though she would always smile and laugh, tell stories and jokes, help everyone she met and change the course of history with her very presence, she would always remain a broken woman. The shattered remnants of the girl she once was were held together loosely at the seams, and the spaces between were filled with an unfathomable darkness that would prevail long after Hawke surrendered to it.

As he watched her descend a flight of stairs without looking back, Cullen sighed. That was it; she was gone.  He turned to rejoin the rest of his forces. A few brief months were all he had with her, but he had learned more about her than in the seven years they had spent in Kirkwall.  And what he had learned had showed him that the woman who was called Champion had spent too long worrying about everything and everyone else aside from herself; the result of which was that when she had been forced to reflect upon the actions she had taken to arrive at where she had seemingly awoken one morning, blinking confusedly into the blinding light of reality, she had resolutely decided to pretend as though none of it had happened.

It was an unhealthy attitude, one that Cullen had found himself adopting during moments of self-reflection.  He hoped - perhaps even against all reason - that he had helped Hawke understand that she wasn’t alone in the world, no matter how much opposition she faced.  But he would never know, because - and he was still glancing to the staircase she had descended as though she might reappear at any moment with her usual charming grin and a teasing call of “surprise!” - she was gone.


	15. epilogue one - letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters are sent across Thedas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this?  “Epilogue /one/”?  That’s right!  I can’t stand to leave this story - or Hawke - so I will have two epilogues.  Why not just make them into chapters, you might ask? Because, dear reader, the story is fully complete without these; they simply add in a little bit extra after the “and they lived happily ever after (except maybe not)” ending.  I just wanted to fill in a few blanks about what headcanon says happened.

 

_ e p i l o g u e  o n e - l e t t e r s _

The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,  
and she will know no fear of death.  
_ Transfigurations 10:1 _

_ A small parcel of papers arrives in Skyhold by courier one morning a few months after the events at Adamant.  Within are two letters, and a handful of maps and scrawled intelligence reports.  _

_ The first letter is written in a tidy, well-practiced hand with little cheerful doodles and mindless little embellishments in the margins and spaces between paragraphs. _

 

Dear Varric,

The Anderfels are lovely this time of year.  I haven’t ever truly seen the mountains proper, so it’s a treat.  Weather’s a little cooler than I’d like, but I suppose everything can’t be perfect, right?

How’s the Inquisition doing?  I don’t mean the thing called Inquisition, I mean the people in it.  How is everyone? I miss them. It’s quiet out here, by myself. I travelled with a band of mercenaries under the banner of the Red Iron for a while… but after they unceremoniously raided a small town, they ended up dead through means that had absolutely nothing to do with me at all, so there is nothing of note in that and I don’t even know why I brought it up.

I crossed paths with another Warden on the outskirts of Orlais.  He said he was also headed towards Wiesshaupt, but had other business to attend to first.  He also seemed worried about how quiet it’s been. But - and here’s what I found interesting - he knew Carver.  Barely recognized me (I suppose he was Orlesian, so probably doesn’t care much for us Marchers), but when he heard my name was Hawke, he brightened--- “Do you know of Ser Carver?”  Seems the ass has made a name for himself. Stroud told me he had heard that Carver was in the Anderfels, likely heading to Wiesshaupt. So maybe he’s there. Should be an interesting reunion, yeah?  Shame you won’t be here. I know you’d be much quicker with the wit.

Take care of yourself, love.  I promise I’ll head back to Kirkwall as soon as I figure out what the Wardens are doing.  Give Alice my best. Remind Sera to give Cassandra another present. Tell Dorian to practice his chess.

Love,  
Lucy

PS, Hi Leliana.  Figured you might find the attached reports interesting.  Do pass them on to Varric when you're done with them, though.  Cheers -H

 

_ Added at the bottom of the page is a second postscript.  The discoloring of the ink and the messier quality of the handwriting betrays its addition as a frustrated afterthought, hours after the original letter had been finished. _

 

PPS, Ok, fine Varric, you win.  Make sure Cullen gets the other letter.  -H

 

-x-

 

_ The second letter is not quite as neatly written, but does not seem to be written without thought.  It appears to begin three times, but not accidentally. The doodles and embellishments are missing, but great care was clearly taken in writing it, as if endless thought went into each word. _

 

Cullen,

Hello.  How are you doing?  I hope you are doing well.  I am doing all right. The mountains are cold this time of year, but very pretty.

 

Commander,

How are things?  I keep hearing rumors that the Inquisition is doing amazing things.  I’m sure it’s thanks in no small part to the well-organized and -trained soldiers.

 

Dear Cullen,

I have no idea how I’m supposed to start this letter to you.  I didn’t even think I was going to write one, but I kept hearing Varric’s voice in my head.  “Curly wants to hear from you, too, you know.” So, here we go.

Truly, I hope you’re doing well.  The fact that the Inquisition’s forces are continuing to do good in Thedas is evidence that you’re still alive and kicking.  I hope the withdrawals are getting better. Try some honey tea at night before bed; it’s supposed to help with nightmares.

I miss you.  I keep wondering if I should have taken you up on the offer to send scouts instead of me.  Hah! You and I both know they’d be worthless if they ran into trouble at Wiesshaupt. Because with the Wardens, there really is no telling what kind of trouble they’d find.  What kind of trouble I’ll find. Maybe it’s griffons! A girl can hope anyway.

I had another dream with Bethany in it.  She asked me why I had chosen to be with a Templar.  And I told her it was because I loved him. She laughed.  She thought it was funny. But she said that she was proud of me for doing something she could never do.  And I don’t think she was talking about you being a Templar. I think she was talking about opening up to someone after being hurt like I had been.  I guess you just knew what to say to get me talking. Because you did get me talking. A lot. It made me think a lot too. And I realized something.

Maybe saying goodbye isn’t as bad as I thought it was.  After all, you and I said goodbye, but you aren’t really gone.  I can still talk to you, and - if your lovely spymaster’s or Varric’s agents manage to find me to deliver something - you can still talk to me.  It wasn’t really goodbye, it was more of a “goodbye for now”. And I think I’m okay with that. Maybe, after all of this is done, maybe I’ll see you again.

But please don’t wait for me.  You are so wonderful, Cullen, I don’t know how long it’ll be before someone else notices.  And I know you can find someone who whines less than I do. So if that should happen, all I ask is that you remember me fondly.  Be happy. That’s all that matters.

I couldn’t say it before, at Adamant, but I would never forgive myself if it went entirely left unsaid.  So, as much as words written on the page can express heartfelt thought,

 

I love you.

 

Stay safe.  Write if you can.  Be happy.

Love always,  
Hawke

(I’m so used to being called that - by you, and everyone else.  But I guess you can call me by my first name. I think we’ve gotten to that point.  So, let’s try again.)

Love always,  
Lucy

 

- four months later -

 

_ Two letters pass from hand to hand across Thedas, mostly in dark alleys and crowded taverns, unnoticed.  A young orphan girl is slipped three shiny silvers and the letters; she’s instructed to first buy a fresh flower from the market, and then to give everything to the woman who tells stories at the bar every evening with short blonde hair, green eyes, and a familiar streak of red across her nose. _

_ Hawke gives the girl a sovereign for her efforts.  Despite her excitement, she waits until she is alone in her room at the inn, well after sunset, to read them. _

 

Bubbles,

Glad to hear you're doing well. I hope Wiesshaupt went well. I'm assuming you're on you way back to Kirkwall by now. You'd better be. I'll be back soon, even if just for a visit. Maker knows we can't leave that place alone for too long. Aveline might nag everyone to death.

I'm sure you'll hear the news soon, if you haven't already: the Inquisition defeated Corypheus. That sounds great, but there's still a lot of mess to clean up. Alice seems to have a handle on things, and I'll be sticking around for a while. But I should be back to Kirkwall within a few weeks or a month by the time you get this letter.

You made friends here. Alice asked that I pass on her appreciation once again, and Sera politely requested that I inform you that she already considers you a Friend, if you should ever want to have some fun. (Did I say politely? Let me rephrase: Sera demanded that I extend the offer since you “aren't like the other arse-for-brains noble whosits that trumpet power over the little people”. I thought you might enjoy her exact words.)

I'll see you back home. Kirkwall’s going to need us both, I think.

Don't get into too much trouble. See you soon.

Love,  
Varric

 

-x-

 

Dear Lucy,

I was glad to hear from you. I'm happy to hear that you are doing better after our time together. I had hoped that you might walk away from it all with a better understanding of yourself.

I miss you. Almost more than seems prudent. It’s a little quieter without you here to pester me while I work. I miss your unexpected arrivals, when you would show up in my office unannounced. I keep thinking every time that door opens it's going to be you with that smirk of yours and a sarcastically cheerful greeting.

I do hope I'll see you again. I'm sure you'll know where to find me if you should ever like to see me again.

Please forgive the brevity of the letter, but I felt I had to return one to you even though I hardly have the time. Alice has been keeping us all busy, even with Corypheus gone.

Stay safe, Lucy. I love you.

Cullen


	16. epilogue two - home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke is finally... happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are.  Finally. Last installment of "Spaces Between".  Figured now would be a good time to say a few things.  Like did you figure out how all the Chant of Light verses related to the chapter they were in?  (You might need to use your imagination with some more than others, but there is a consistent imagery throughout, specifically with light and shadow/darkness.)  Or, did you see how I buried the story title into each chapter? Go back and check, ctrl-F and everything. It’s there. The phrase “space between” or “spaces between” appears in every chapter.  There’s a reason for that. It’s because -gasp- this entire story has been about those spaces! No way. o:
> 
> Anyway.  Thanks for joining me on this adventure.  Your support and comments have meant a lot to me!  I hope you enjoyed yourself at least half as much as I did.  <3

_ e p i l o g u e  t w o - h o m e _

 

O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
Make me to rest in the warmest places.  
_ Transfigurations 12:1 _

A year and a half had passed since Hawke had last seen Skyhold.  Despite her travels and everything she had seen since, her days within those walls were still some of her most cherished memories.  After her visit to Wiesshaupt, she had wandered through the less populated parts of Tevinter and Nevarra in the general direction of the Free Marches.  She had lingered in a few smaller towns when no one recognized her or her name. She enjoyed the anonymity. But eventually, of course, she found herself back in Kirkwall.

The last letter that she had received from Varric about two weeks prior indicated that he was on his own way back to Kirkwall--- and something about some business with some Qunari?  She was going to have to ask about that because she was sure it was going to be quite the tale. She had assumed he would make it back first, but Hawke wasn’t quite expecting to hear his name so readily around the city upon her own return.  Especially with the title “Viscount” in front of it.

After settling back into the Hawke estate - left in surprisingly nice condition; someone was still caring for it, and Hawke had some ideas about who that might be - she opted to pay a visit to the Keep and revisit some old friends.

Aveline was first.  The barracks seemed quiet that afternoon; Hawke hoped that the Guard-Captain was in a good mood.  Otherwise, she was likely to be met with a frown and, “Can you at least wait until tomorrow to start causing trouble again?” despite her over-a-year long absence.  As she descended into the barracks, the guards perked up, and started greeting her cheerfully. She quieted them all; “I’m trying to surprise the Captain,” she explained.

A surprise it was.  When she walked into Aveline’s office, the redheaded woman was hunched over her desk, writing furiously.  “Not now,” she snapped without looking up.

“That’s all right,” Hawke said casually.  “I can always come back in another year.”

Aveline looked up at her, but her face showed no initial change of expression.  “Hawke,” she said slowly, as if she was unsure if the blonde was real.

“Hi Aveline,” Hawke greeted her with a grin.

Finally, Aveline stood.  “Hawke!” She laughed and moved around her desk to give the other woman a tight hug.  “Maker, but you’ve been gone for a while. How are you?” She held Hawke out at arm’s length to examine her.  “You’re too skinny. And very tan. You’ve done a lot of travelling, then? Didn’t stay in one place for very long.”

“Can you tell what I had for breakfast?” Hawke teased.

“Yes, but only because you spilled some on your shirt,” Aveline countered with a smile.  “It is good to see you. You’re doing well?”

“Oh yes,” Hawke agreed, motioning for Aveline to go back to her desk in a slight apology for the interruption.  “You guessed right, I did travel quite a bit. I saw a lot of Tevinter, so that was interesting. Nevarra was kind of quieter than I expected.  But it’s good to be back. How are things in Kirkwall?”

Aveline’s smile slipped as she sat back down.  Hawke laughed. “That bad?” she said. “Let me guess--- it’s the new viscount?”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Of course.  I could barely walk into the city without hearing about him.  My, my; I never saw him as much of a politician. But at least his mouth is being put to good use.”

“Too good of a use,” Aveline sighed.  “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.  He simply cannot use the City Guard as protection for the circus that’s coming through.  He’s just trying to give me a headache.”

“Well, Aveline, I have some good news for you,” Hawke told her.  “I will make sure Varric no longer gives you a headache. After all, we both know I’m much better at it.”

“Oh good,” Aveline said mildly, turning back to her paperwork.  “It’s good to have you back, Hawke.”

“Glad to be back, Aveline.”

 

She stayed to chat for a while with the guards, but avoided telling any stories of her travels.  “How about you grab some drinks after work?” Hawke suggested. “I might just be down at the Hanged Man at night, telling some interesting tales.”

Then, it was off to the viscount’s office.

“The Viscount is not seeing anyone right now,” the Seneschal said without even looking at her.  “You may come back tomorrow.”

“Afternoon, Seneschal,” Hawke greeted him pointedly.  It was interesting how easily everyone had fallen into complacence without her there.  Very few of Kirkwall’s citizens had bothered to pay attention to her face until she spoke.  So when Bran swung around suddenly and saw her face, and recognized her as the woman who had caused so much stress in the past, the mix of fear, frustration, and confusion made Hawke laugh.  “Are you sure the viscount isn’t seeing anyone?”

“H-he has requested---” Bran started, trying to regain his composure.  And failing.

“---for no one to interrupt him, yes, I know,” Hawke finished for him.  “But I don’t think that includes me. Do you?”

“Well…”

“Right.  So, if you’d be so kind, I’d really like to see my friend again.”  Hawke smiled again, and moved past the seneschal without another word.  Undoubtedly, Bran’s thoughts were lingering around the realm of, “Maker, what did I do to deserve this?”

Hawke peeked around the corner into the viscount’s office.  Varric was sitting comfortably, and writing away calmly at his desk - quite a different composure from how she had found Aveline.  So she walked right up to his desk. “Good afternoon, Viscount Tethras.”

He looked up with a surprised smile.  “Bubbles,” he greeted her with a chuckle, immediately dropping what he was doing.  “I wasn’t expecting you back like this! I was looking forward to a grand entrance of trumpets and magic--- this is terribly underwhelming.”

“I am sorry to disappoint,” Hawke said, walking around the desk to give Varric an impressively big hug.  “Andraste’s tits, I missed you. If I didn’t just want to see you so much, I would have planned something more entertaining.  Next time, yeah?”

“Hopefully there won’t be a ‘next time we don't see each other for the better part of 18 months’,” Varric suggested, hugging her back.  “I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”

“So am I.”  Hawke planted a firm kiss on his cheek as they broke apart.  “And look at you! Viscount! My goodness, I couldn’t believe it when I first heard it.  But I can absolutely see how you ended up here. Let me guess…” she started, leaning back on his desk, “you didn’t actually want to be viscount, but you started taking steps on your own to improve the city, and garnered enough unintentional support that they just threw you into the Keep and bid you good luck?”

“You know me too well,” he laughed.  “Just throw in a little more pestering Bran, and a little less support.”

“You have opposition?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, nothing worth mentioning,” Varric brushed it away.  “Some people just don’t like having a dwarf in charge. They’re the minority, though.  Seems like most citizens like having me here.”

“Me included,” Hawke agreed with a smirk.

“You know I can’t give you special treatment,” Varric pointed out.

“I know that, you know that, everyone knows that,” Hawke said, “but that’s not how it’s going to work in practice.”

Varric chuckled.  “How about instead of thinking up ways to make my job more difficult, you reverse that energy and figure out how to make my job easier?”

“How about you buy the drinks, and I’ll consider that more seriously.”

“You have a deal, Bubbles.”

* * *

Life became very comfortable.  Unfamiliarly comfortable. Hawke worked closely with Varric and Aveline to improve the city--- as well as communications between the City Guard and the Viscount’s office.  Everything seemed to be oddly peaceful in Kirkwall, if not Thedas as a whole.

Hawke began falling into contented routines.  During the day, she would annoy Aveline until she either gave the blonde a job or told her to leave; then, she would annoy Varric until he did the same.  (Though more often than not, Varric wouldn’t be the one to tell her to leave - it was likely either the seneschal reminding Varric that he had work he was avoiding, or Aveline reminding Hawke of the same.)  If nothing more pressing demanded her attention, she would visit the Alienage, where Merrill still resided, and help out the elves while catching up with her friend. (Merrill had been exuberant to have Hawke back, even going so far as to arrange a small gathering to celebrate her return.)  If Merrill was busy elsewhere, then Hawke would check out the Chanter’s board, or wander the city, assisting where needed.

The evenings, of course, were spent at the Hanged Man.  Varric made his appearances often, and together they would tell outlandish stories about Kirkwall’s past, or he would let her lead on stories about her recent travels.  And when everything wound down, she would retire to Varric’s old suite, which he had gifted her - “since those stuffed shirts think it’s better for my public image if I actually live at the Keep instead of this wonderful place.  They have no accounting for taste.” Of course, the Hawke estate was still hers, and she would visit it often and spend the occasional night there, but the palatial suite at the Hanged Man held much more charm, and was much more of what she had grown accustomed over the years of traveling.

She was content.

It was a contentedness that extended further than she expected.  When Varric was able to avoid his handlers, he would spend the night with Hawke.  They would talk and laugh well into the night, away from the bustle of the bar. Just in case he was found out, he didn’t want to be blamed for avoiding work, so he would bring along letters and paperwork that Hawke would help him with.

“Let’s see,” she mused over the next letter.  It was on fancy letterhead, and smelled faintly of lilacs.  “Another letter from some noble twat.”

“It always is,” Varric agreed with a slight sigh, looking over a budget report with the same interest he might have afforded a rotting piece of fruit.  Hawke was reclining comfortably on her bed, and Varric had his head on a pillow on her lap. “Broad strokes?”

“Lady Hillshire is requesting the removal of a recent installation in Hightown due to the… ‘uncommon nature of the decor’, likening it to Tevinter heraldry,” she said.

“Broader, Bubbles,” Varric suggested.

Hawke giggled.  “The good Lady doesn’t like the new fountain.  Says it reminds her of slavers.”

Varric sighed, covering his face with the budget.  “Not the fountain we installed last week?”

“The very same.”

“Wasn’t Hillshire on the committee that petitioned for it in the first place?”

“She was, and now she’s on a committee that is petitioning for its removal,” Hawke said, smiling down at him.

He lowered the report so he could look back up at her.  “I’m not dealing with that one.”

“Off to the ‘fuck it’ pile, then,” Hawke agreed cheerfully, balling it up and tossing it into the fireplace where it joined the smoldering embers of many other letters.  “Let’s see what’s next.”

“First,” he stopped her from going to the pile of papers next to them, “take a look at this.”  He handed her the report. “Tell me what’s wrong with it.”

Hawke hummed a little as she glanced over it.  “Seems… pretty standard,” she mumbled. “Oh, no, wait.”  Her brow furrowed; Varric smiled slightly. “No, what’s this?”  She pointed at it to illustrate her disbelief. “Five hundred sovereigns for ‘Wounded Coast Expedition’?  What is this?”

Varric chuckled, closing his eyes.  “Your guess is as good as mine, Bubbles.  I think I’m going to have to speak with our Guard-Captain tomorrow; it either came from her office, or the Seneschal.”

“Five hundred,” Hawke muttered in disbelief.  “Five hundred damned sovereigns for what? We’ve already mapped out the Wounded Coast.”

“Extensively,” Varric agreed.  “Don’t worry about it for now; just wanted to see if you happened to know anything about it, but your reaction says otherwise.”

“Trust me, if I was spending the city’s gold on pointless adventures, you’d be coming with me,” Hawke assured him, setting the report on the top of the pile.  She stifled a yawn. “Maker, it’s getting late. Are you staying tonight?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Varric responded playfully.

“Oh, is my company so terrible?” Hawke teased, ruffling his hair.  He chuckled. “You’re free to leave, Viscount Tethras. I won’t keep you from your office.”

He opened one eye, but saw Hawke smiling at him.  He opened the other. “You know damn well that’s a lie.”

“It is indeed,” she agreed.  “If I had it my way, I’d say hang the title of viscount; I miss my best friend.  Look at all this work you’re always buried in. I don’t remember Dumar being this busy.  Where are you getting all this work from?”

“Ah, it’s my curse,” Varric said dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm.  “Because I give a shit! I take on the work to make sure it’s done properly. Kirkwall needs someone who cares, I think.”

“It is about time,” Hawke agreed.

They lapsed into silence.  Hawke began mindlessly stroking Varric’s hair as she watched the fire slowly smolder itself out.  There were still some voices in the bar, but as they drifted up the stairs, they muted into little more than a faraway rumble.  A bard was staying the night, so the soft melody of a lute would occasionally drift through the building as well. Hawke looked back down at Varric, still lying with his arm over his eyes, and smiled.

She was… happy.

Years ago, she would have never been able to imagine that this was going to be her life:  comfortable, actively helping the city she called home, spending time with her best friend, and rarely dwelling on the events that led her here.  Though she missed them, and always would, the men she had loved recently were beginning to wane: Anders was slowly becoming more of a distant, humming pain rather than a throbbing wound in her heart; Cullen was becoming a happy memory rather than a lingering regret.  The Mage-Templar Rebellion and the Inquisition were a faded dream that no longer hounded her in sleep. Even the small metal locket over her heart went unnoticed most days. Everything was settling in the best way.

She was happy.

“Stay the night,” Hawke suggested after another yawn.  “I know you sleep better here than in the Keep.”

Varric laughed, lowering his arm.  “That I do. All right, I’ll stay. You’re sure you don’t mind the company?”

Hawke leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead.  “In fact, I prefer it when it’s you.”

Varric stopped her from sitting back up with a hand on the back of her head, and lifted himself to kiss her properly.

“Right,” Hawke breathed when they broke apart, “I keep forgetting I can do that.”

“Anytime you want, Bubbles,” Varric reminded her with a little smirk.

She held his face in both hands and kissed him again.  She enjoyed it in the same way a hungry man enjoys a banquet.  In the four months now that she had been back, it had only been two weeks since a drunken night of reminiscing about “the old days” led to Hawke wondering why she and Varric had never gotten together.

_ “You know why,” he told her. _

_ “She’s married,” Hawke pointed out, only slurring very slightly.  “I’m not sayin’ to give up on her or nothin’ - Maker knows I have no place to talk ‘bout that - but might not hurt to try’n have some fun ‘til she realizes what she’s missin’.” _

_ “And you’re suggested you?” Varric asked. _

_ Hawke giggled.  “Yeah, I suppose I am.” _

_ After they laughed about it, he stood up nonetheless and walked over to kiss Hawke very firmly.  “All right, Bubbles,” he said, meeting her surprised gaze with his slightly-less-drunk one, “I suppose it is about time.” _

Hawke broke away smiling.  “Go change, love,” she told him with a playful pat on the head.  “We need to get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

Varric sighed, sitting up.  “I have a busy day everyday.”

* * *

“Everything was quiet,” Hawke said, lowering her voice for effect.  The crowd around her leaned in closer. “Only a breeze stirred the trees.  I couldn’t hear the bandits anywhere. But I knew there had to be more--- there’s always more.”  She made a show of pretending to look around. “They couldn’t be hiding in the trees: it was the dead of winter; there was no foliage to hide them.  But they were nowhere to be found. Then suddenly!” She leapt from her chair and mimicked a huge explosion, complete with sound effects. The crowd jumped back in surprise.  “Boom! A gigantic fireball from the sky lands right next to me! Throws me back, and with my ears ringing and partially blinded, I’m figuring they had mages among them that I didn’t see.”

“But you’d never miss another mage,” Varric helpfully added.

“Of course not,” Hawke agreed.  “Mages are tricky bastards; gotta keep a close eye on them.”  She gave her audience a knowing wink, and they chuckled appreciatively.  “But for a moment there, I doubted myself, so I was looking around to find them…”  As she looked around this time, a pair of eyes at the back of the bar caught her attention.

She froze.

From the shadows under a drawn hood, a familiar set of eyes had been watching her.  Familiar… but not familiar enough. They were they same sharp, distrusting, ever-watching eyes she remembered, but now they glowed faintly violet.  Glowed inhumanly. She stared and stared, worried that if she dropped her gaze, the man watching her might disappear. When she felt Varric’s hand on her arm, the violet eyes turned away from her first.

“You were looking for the mages…” Varric prompted gently.  He noticed her reaction, but couldn’t see what she had. For now, however, she had an expectant audience; story first, explanations later.

“The…” Hawke blinked, and looked down to see dozens of normal pairs of eyes looking back up at her.  “The ...mages,” she mumbled. “The… oh! The mages, yes; I was looking for them,” she picked up, giving herself a mental shake, “but of course, there were none to be found.”

“Then where’d the fire come from?” a girl called from the audience.

Hawke smiled.  “I will tell you where it came from,” she said.  “It came from…” a pause for drama’s sake, “...a  _ dragon _ !”

Obedient gasps and murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd.  Hawke smiled wider. “Those bandits knew there was a dragon’s lair nearby, and had hoped to shake me by luring me into her nest.  Little did they know, I’ve had some experience with dragons myself. So what did I do? What else! I led the dragon right back to them, and waited until they begged for mercy before killing it myself.  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I saved an entire countryside from bandits  _ and _ a bloodthirsty dragon.”  With a little bow, applause erupted around her.

“Not bad, Bubbles,” Varric told her.  “You’re getting better.”

“Oh, stop,” Hawke said with a playful swat as she sat back down.  “I’ll never be better than you, and you know it.”

Varric chuckled.  “I do indeed. So, what happened there?”

“What happened where?” Hawke asked innocently.  The crowd began to disperse, and her eyes wandered to the far side of the bar.  The hooded figure was still seated at a table in the corner, away from the bustle.

Varric followed her gaze now the he could see what had distracted her.  He frowned. “Hm.”

“It can’t really be him,” Hawke murmured.  “There’s no way he’d come back like this.”

Varric said nothing.

“Unless…”  Hawke frowned as well, and looked back at Varric.  “Varric.”

“Yes?”  He turned to look at her as well.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?” she asked.

“About what?” he asked with a shrug.  “Surely you don’t mean to imply I knew Anders was back in Kirkwall.”

Her frown deepened.  “Varric.”

“ _ He _ reached out to  _ me _ ,” he said before Hawke could begin berating him; he could see it forming in her mind, and did not want the words to reach her mouth.  They were likely to be harsh. “He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to see you again, after leaving you like he did, but wanted to know how you were doing.  I guess he decided to see you anyway.”

“And you knew,” Hawke said patiently, “he was in Kirkwall.”

“I… did,” Varric said carefully.

“For how long?”

“About ...two weeks,” he said.

“Two weeks.”  Hawke deflated and buried her head in her arms on the table.  “Maker’s breath, he’s been here for two weeks. And you didn’t think this was relevant enough to tell me?” she asked, her voice muffled as she refused to look up.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Varric suggested.

“You’re right, I don’t have to.  But you know I’m going to anyway.”

Varric smiled just a little, and stood.  “You know where to find me if you need me,” he told her, stroking her head and kissing her temple.

For a minute or two, Hawke continued sitting with her face hidden.  She could hear Varric saying his goodbyes as he left, and she could feel those glowing eyes on her again.  Anders. Anders was back. Anders had come back to Kirkwall to see her, to talk to her. Anders was here. It felt like a lifetime ago when last she saw him, but it was likely closer to - she tried to count the months - three years?  Two and a half?

Whatever reason he had to return, she wanted to hear.

So she looked up - he wasn’t watching her when she looked at him - and took a breath to steady herself.  She stood, walked over to the corner he was sitting in, and sat lightly across the table from him. “Afternoon, love,” she greeted him casually, if tense, in a way that suggested they had merely had a rough couple weeks apart rather than the torturous months that had separated them.

He looked up at her.  This close, she could see the extent of the corruption that his eyes betrayed:  blue-violet coursed through his body, glowing subtly in veiny patterns across his skin; his hands shook as he shifted his mug away from the center of the table; his eyes glowed violently violet from sunken sockets, beneath which heavy shadows told stories of too many sleepless nights.  He reached a shaky hand over to rest on top of hers, and even before he closed the space between her skin and his, she could feel him pulsing with uncomfortable warmth and power, as though he might ignite the very air around him.

And then, he spoke.  His voice was no longer the soft Fereldan lilt she remembered, the gentle but passionate tone that had spoken to her through many days and nights of trouble.  It was vivid but weak, it was two voices speaking together, intertwined and eating away at one another in the same way she now knew the two minds inside this one body were locked in constant struggle.

He said, voices shaking, “Hawke.  I need your help.”

**spacesbetween**

 

The fear of death follows from the fear of life.  A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.  
_ Mark Twain _

 

I am prepared to meet my Maker.  Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.  
_ Winston Churchill _

 

The silence isn’t so bad  
‘Til I look at my hands and feel sad  
‘Cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly.  
_ Vanilla Twilight - Owl City _

 

The earth that is the space between  
I'd banish it from under me  
To get to you  
_ One Sweet Love - Sara Bareilles _


End file.
